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I n n I T O THE BEST LITERARY AND ) 

I U"Dl I Qgiyjy jy s - HUMOROUS WEEKLY PUBLISHED. J 


— AT ALL-— 
NEWSTANDS. 


Vol. 11. No. 587. May 12, 1885. Annual Subscription, $30.00. 


WAYS OF 

THE HOUR 

BY 

J. FENIMORE COOPER 

Author of “THE SPY,” “CHAIN-BEARER,” 
“WYANDOTTE,” Etc. 




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/ELL'S UBPAKYi 

RI-WEEKLY PUBLICATION OF THE BEST CURRENT h STAMP ARP LITERATURE 


Entered at the Post Office, N. Y., as second-class matter. 
Copyright. 1884, by John W. Lovkll Co. 


NEW-YORK 


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JOHN W. LOVELL CO., 14 Vesey Street, New York, 


THE 


WAYS OF 


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A TALE 


~BY 

J/FENIMORE COOPER 



“ Is this the way 
I must return to native dust ? 9 



NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

14 and 16 Vesey Street 



PREFACE. 


The object of this book is to draw the attention of the 
reader to some of the social evils that beset us ; more par- 
ticularly in connection with the administration of criminal 
justice. So long a time has intervened since the thought 
occurred, and so many interruptions have delayed the prog- 
ress of the work, that it is felt the subject has been very 
imperfectly treated ; but it is hoped that enough has been 
done to cause a few to reflect on a matter of vital impor- 
tance ; one that to them may possess the interest of 
novelty. 

A strange indifference exists as to the composition of 
the juries. In our view, the institution itself, so admirable 
in a monarchy, is totally unsuited to a democracy. The 
very principle that renders it so safe where there is a great 
central power to resist, renders it unsafe in a state of so- 
ciety in which few have sufficient resolution to attempt 
even to resist popular impulses. 

A hundred instances might be given in which the juries 
of this country are an evil ; one or two of which we will 
point out. In trials between railroad companies and those 
who dwell along their lines, prejudice is usually l oO strong 
against the former that justice for them is nearly hopeless. 
In certain parts of the country, the juries are made the in- 
struments of defeating the claims of creditors who dwell at 
a distance, and are believed to have interests opposed to 
the particular community where the debtor resides. This 
is a most crying evil, and has been the source of many and 
grievous wrongs. Whenever there is a motive for creating 
a simulated public opinion, by the united action of several 
journals, justice is next to hopeless ; such combinations 
rarely, if ever, occurring in its behalf. In cases that are 
connected with the workings of political schemes, and not 
unfrequently in those in which political men are parties to 
the suits, it is often found that the general prejudices or 


4 


PREFACE. 


partialities, of the out-door factions enter the jury-box. 
This is a most serious evil too ; for, even when the feeling 
does not produce a direct and flagrant wrong, it is very apt 
so far to temper the right as to deprive it of much of its 
virtue. In a country like this, in which party penetrates 
to the very bottom of society, the extent of this evil can be 
known only to those who are brought into close contact 
with the ordinary Workings of the institution. 

In a democracy, proper selections in the material, that 
are necessary to render juries safe, become nearly impos- 
sible. Then, the tendency is to the accumulation of povver 
in bodies of men ; and in a state of society like our own, 
the juries get to be much too independent of the opinion' 
of the court. It is precisely in that condition of things in 
which the influence and authority of the judge guide the 
juror, and the investigation and substantial power of the 
juror react on the proceedings of the court, that the great- 
est benefits have been found to accrue from this institution. 
The reverse of this state of things will be very likely to 
produce the greatest amount of evil. 

It is certain that the juries are falling into disrepute 
throughout the length and breadth of the land. The diffi- 
culty is to find a substitute. As they are bodies holding 
the lives, property and character of every member of the 
community, more or less, in their power, it is not to be 
supposed that the masses will surrender this important 
means of exercising their authority voluntarily, or with 
good will. Time alone can bring reform through the ex-> 
tent of the abuses. 

The writer has not the vanity to suppose that anything 
contained in this book will produce a very serious impres- 
sion on the popularity of the jury. Such is not its design. 
All that is anticipated is to cause a portion of his readers 
to reflect on the subject ; persons who probably have never 
yet given it a moment of thought. 

There is a tendency, at the present time, to court change 
for its own sake. This is erroneously termed a love of 
reform. Something very like a revolution is going on in 
our midst, while there is much reason to apprehend that 
few real, grievances are abated; the spurious too exclu- 
sively occupying the popular mind, to render easy a just 
distinction between them. When an American prates 
about aristocracy, it is pretty safe to set him down as 
knavish or ignorant. It is purely cant ; and the declaimers 
would be puzzled to point to a single element of the little 


PREFACE. ^ 

understood and much decried institution, the country be- 
ing absolutely without any, unless the enjoyment of the 
ordinary rights of property can be so considered. But the 
demagogue must have his war-cry as well as the Indian ; 
and it is probable he will continue to whoop as long as the 
country contains minds weak enough to furnish him with 
dupes. 

Cooperstown, March 12, 1850. 


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THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


CHAPTER I. 

Mar. My Lord Aumerle, is Harry Hereford armed ? 

Aum. Yea, at all points ; and longs to enter in. 

— King Richard II. 

In one respect, there is a visible improvement in the 
goodly town of Manhattan, and that is in its architecture. 
Of its growth, there has never been any question, while 
many have disputed its pretension to improvement. A 
vast expansion of mediocrity, though useful and imposing, 
rarely satisfies either the judgment or the taste ; those who 
possess these qualities, requiring a nearer approach to 
what is excellent, than can ever be found beneath the term 
just mentioned. 

A town which is built of red bricks, that are faced with 
white marble, the whole garnished with green blinds, can 
never have but one outward sign — that of tawdry vul- 
garity. But this radical defect is slowly disappearing from 
the streets of Manhattan ; and those who build are getting 
to understand that architecture, like statuary, will not ad- 
mit of strong contrasts in colors. Horace Walpole tells 
us of a certain old Lord Pembroke, who blackened the 
eyes of the gods and goddesses in the celebrated gallery at 
Wilton, and prided himself on the achievement, as if he 
had been another Phidias. There have been thousands of 
those who have labored in the spirit of this Earl of Pem- 
broke in the streets of all the American towns; but travel- 
ling, hints, books and example, are slowly effecting a 
change ; and whole squares may now be seen in which the 
eye rests with satisfaction on blinds, facings and bricks, all 
brought to the same pleasing, sober, architectural tint. We 
.regard this as the first step, in advance, that has been made 
in the right direction, so far as the outward aspect of the 


8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


town is concerned, and look forward, with hope, to the day 
when Manhattan shall have banished its rag-fair finery al- 
together, and the, place will become as remarkable for the 
chaste simplicity of its streets, as they have hitherto been 
for their marked want of taste. 

With this great town, mottled as it is, in people as well 
as in hues, with its native population collected from all 
parts of this vast republic, and its European representa- 
tives amounting to scores of thousands, we shall have much 
to do in the succeeding pages. Our researches, however, 
will be bestowed more on things moral than on things 
physical; and we shall endeavor to carry the reader with 
us through scenes that, we regret to say, are far more 
characteristic than novel. 

In one of the cross streets that communicate with Broad- 
way and below Canal, stands a dwelling that is obnoxious 
to all the charges of bad taste to which there has already 
been allusion, as well as to certain others that have not 
yet been named, at all. A quarter of a century since, or 
within the first twenty years of its own existence, the 
house in question would have been regarded as decidedly 
patrician, though it is now lost amid the thousands of simi- 
lar abodes that have arisen since its own construction. 
There it stands, with its red bricks periodically painted 
redder ; its marble facings, making a livery of red turned 
up with white ; its green blinds, its high stoop, its half- 
buried and low basement, and all its neatness and comfort, 
notwithstanding its flagrant architectural sins. Into this 
building we now propose to enter, at the very early hour 
of eight in the morning. 

The principal floor was divided, as usual, between a dining 
and a drawing-room, with large communicating doors. 
This was the stereotyped construction of all Manhattanese 
dwellings of any pretension, a quarter of a century since ; 
and that of Mr. Thomas Dunscomb, the owner and occu- 
pant of the house in question, had been built in rigid con- 
formity with the fashion of its day. Squire Dunscomb, as 
this gentleman was termed in all the adjacent country 
counties, where he was well-known as a reliable and sound 
legal adviser ; Mr. Thomas Dunscomb, as he was styled by 
various single ladies, who wondered he never married ; or 
Tom Dunscomb, as he was familiarly called by a herd of 
unyoked youths, all of whom were turned of sixty, was a 
capital fellow, in each of his many characters. As a lawyer, 
he was as near the top of the bar as a man can be, who never 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


9 

had any pretensions to be an orator, and whose longest ef- 
fort seldom exceeded half an hour. Should the plan of 
placing eloquence in hobbles reach our own bar, his habit 
of condensing, his trick of getting multum in parvo, may yet 
bring him to the very summit ; for he will have an im- 
mense advantage over those who, resembling a Country 
buck at a town ball, need the whole field to cut their flour- 
ishes in. Asa man of the world, he was well-bred, though 
a little cynical, very agreeable, most especially with the 
ladies, and quite familiar with all the better habits of the 
best-toned circles of the place. As a boon companion, Tom 
Dunscomb was an immense favorite*, being particularly 
Warm-hearted, and always ready for any extra eating or 
drinking. In addition to these leading qualities, Dunscomb 
was known to be rich, having inherited a very tolerable 
estate, as well as having added much to his means, by a, 
large and lucrative practice. If to these circumstances we 
add that of a very prepossessing personal appearance, in 
which age was very green, the reader has all that is neces- 
sary for an introduction to one of our principal characters. 

Though a bachelor, Mr. Dunscomb did not live alone.! 
He had a nephew and a niece in his family, the orphan 
children of a sister who had now been dead many years. 
They bore the name of Wilmeter, which in the family par- 
lance was almost always pronounced Wilmington. It was 
Jack Wilmington, and Sally Wilmington, at school, at home, 
and with all their intimates ; though Mr. John Wilmeter 
and Miss Sarah Wilmeter were often spoken of in their 
little out-door world, it being rather an affectation of the 
time to prove, in this manner, that one retains some knowl- 
edge of the spelling-book. We shall write the name as it 
is written by the parties themselves, forewarning the reader 
that if he desires to pronounce it by the same family 
standard, he must take the unauthorized spelling as a 
guide. We own ourselves to a strong predilection for old 
familiar sounds, as well as old familiar faces. 

At half-past 8 a.m., of a fine morning, late in May, when 
the roses were beginning to show their tints amid the verd- 
ure of the leaves in Mr. Dunscomb’s yard, the three indi- 
viduals just mentioned were at the breakfast-table of what 
it is the fashion of New York to term a dining-room. The 
windows were open, and a soft and fragrant air filled the 
apartment. We have said that Mr. Dunscomb was afiiu- 
mt, and he chose to enjoy his means, not a/a Manhattan, 
m idle competition with the nouvcaux riches, but in a more 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


20 

quiet and rational way. His father had occupied lots, 
“ running through,” as it is termed; building his house on 
one street and his stables on the other ; leaving himself a 
space in the rear of the former, that was prodigious for a 
town so squeezed into parallelograms of twenty-five feet 
by a hundred. This open space was of the usual breadth, 
but it actually measured a hundred and fifty feet in length, 
an area that would have almost justified its being termed 
a “ park,” in the nomenclature of the town. This yard 
Sarah had caused to be well garnished with shrubbery, 
and, for its dimensions, it was really a sort of oasis in that 
wilderness of bricks. 

The family was not alone that morning. A certain Mi- 
chael Millington was a guest of Jack’s, and seemingly quite 
at home in the little circle. The business of eating and 
drinking was pretty well through with, though each of the 
four cups had its remains of tea or coffee, and Sarah sat 
stirring hers idly, while her soft eyes were turned with in- 
terest on the countenances of the two young men. The 
last had a sheet of writing-paper lying between them, and 
their heads were close together, as both studied that which 
was written on it in pencil. As for Mr. Dunscomb, him- 
self, he was fairly surrounded by documents of one sort 
and another. Two or three of the morning papers, glance.d 
at but not read, lay opened on the floor ; on each side of 
his plate was a brief, or some lease or re-lease ; while a copy 
of the new and much-talked-of code was in his hand. As 
we say in our American English, Mr. Dunscomb was “em- 
phatically ” a common-law lawyer ; and, as our transatlan- 
tic brethren would remark in their sometime cockney 
dialect, he was not at all “agreeable ” to this great innova- 
tion on “ the perfection of human reason.” He muttered 
occasionally as he read, and now and then he laid down 
the book, and seemed to muse. All this, however, was 
quite lost on Sarah, whose soft blue eyes still rested on the 
interested countenances of the two young men. At length 
Jack seized the paper, and wrote a line or two hurriedly, 
with his pencil. 

“There, Mike,” he said, in a tone of self-gratulation, “I 
think that will do ! ” 

“It has one merit of a good toast,” answered the friend, 
a little doubtingly ; “ it is. sententious.” 

“As all toasts ought to be. If we are to have this din- 
ner, and the speeches, and all the ‘usual publications after- 
ward, I choose that we should appear with some little credit. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


il’ 

Pray, sir,” raising his eyes to his uncle, and his voice to 
correspond, “ what do you think of it, now ? ” 

“Just as I always have, Jack. It will never do at all. 
Justice would halt miserably under such a system of prac- 
tice. Some of the forms of pleadings are infernal, if plead- 
ings they can be called at all. I detest even the names 
they give their proceedings — complaints and answers ! ” 

“ They are certainly not as formidable to the ear,” re- 
turned Jack, a little saucily, “as rebutters and sur-rebut- 
ters. But I was not thinking of the code, sir ; I was asking 
your opinion of my new toast.” 

“ Even a fee could not extract an opinion, unless I heard 
it read.” 

“Well, sir, here it is : ‘The Constitution of the United 
States ; the palladium of our civil and religious liberties.’ 
Now I do not think I can much better that, Uncle Tom.” 

“ I am very sorry to hear you say so, Jack.” 

“Why so, sir ? I’m sure it is good American sentiment ; 
and what is more, it has a flavor of the old English princi- 
ples that you so much admire, about it, too. Why do you 
dislike it, sir ? ” 

“ For seA r eral reasons — it would be commonplace, which 
a toast should never be, were it true ; but there happens 
not to be a word of truth in your sentiment, sonorous as it 
may sound in your ears.” 

“ Not true ! Does not the constitution guarantee to the 
citizen religious liberty ? ” 

“ Not a bit of it.” 

“You amaze me, sir ! Why, here, just listen to its lan- 
guage, if you please.” 

Hereupon Jack opened a book, and read the clause on 
which he relied to confute one of the ablest constitutional 
lawyers and clearest heads in America. Not that Mr. Duns- 
comb was what is called an “expounder,” great or small ; 
but he never made a mistake on the subject in hand, and 
had often caused the best of the “expounders ” to retrace 
their steps. He was an original thinker, but of the safest 
and most useful sort ; one who distinguished between the 
institutions of England and America, while he submitted to 
the fair application of minor principles that are so common 
to both. As for his nephew, he knew no more of the great 
instrument he held in his hand, than he had gleaned from 
ill-digested newspaper remarks, vapid speeches in Congress, 
and the erroneous notions that float about the country, 
coming from “nobody knows whom,” and leading literally 


X2 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

to nothing. The ignorance that prevails on such subjects 
5s really astounding, when one remembers the great num- 
ber of battles that are annually fought over this much- 
neglected compact. 

“ Ay, here is the clause — just please to hear it, sir,” con- 
tinued Jack. “‘ Congress shall make no law respecting 
an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exer- 
cise thereof ; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of 
the press ; or the right of the people peaceably to assem- 
ble, and to petition the government fora redress of griev- 
ances.’ There, I think that will go far toward justifying 
the whole toast, Mike.” 

This was said a little triumphantly, and not a little con- 
fidently. 

The only answer Mr. Dunscomb condescended to make 
was an expressive “Umph!” As for Michael Millington, 
he was a little timid about expressing an opinion, and that 
for two reasons ; he had often experienced Mr. Dunscomb’s 
superior wisdom, and he knew that Sarah heard all that 
passed. 

“ I wish your uncle would lay aside the code for a min- 
ute, Jack, and let us know what he thinks of our authori- 
ties,” said Michael, in an undertone. 

. “Come, Uncle Tom,” cried the more hardy nephew — 
“ come out of your reserve, and face the constitution of 
your country. Even Sarah can see that, for once, we are 
right, and that my toast is of proof.” 

“ It is a very good proof -sheet, Jack, not only of your 
own mind, but of half the minds in the country. Ranker 
nonsense cannot be uttered, however, than to say that the 
Constitution of the United States is the palladium of any- 
thing in which civil or religious liberty is concerned.” 

“ You do not dispute the fidelity of my quotation, sir ? ” 

“By no means. The clause you read is a very useless 
exhibition of certain facts that existed just as distinctly be- 
fore it was framed, as they do to-day. Congress had no 
power to make an established religion, or abridge the free- 
dom of speech, or that of the press, or the right of the 
people to petition, before that amendment was introduced, 
and consequently the clause itself is supererogatory. You 
take nothing by your motion, Jack.” 

“ I do not understand you, sir. To me, it seems that I 
have the best of it.” 

“ Congress has no power but what has been conceded to 
it directly, or by necessary connection. Now there hap- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*3 


pens to be nothing said about granting any such authority 
to Congress, and consequently the prohibition is not 
necessary. But, admitting that Congress did really pos- 
sess the power to establish a religion previously to the 
adoption of this amendment, the constitution would not 
prove a palladium to religious liberty, unless it prohibited 
everybody else from meddling with the opinions of the 
citizen. Any State of this Union that pleases, may estab- 
lish a religion, and compel its citizens to support it.” 

“ Why, sir, but our own State constitution has a provision 
similar to this, to prevent it.” 

“Very true, but our own State constitution can be al- 
tered in this behalf, without asking permission of any one 
but our own people. I think that even Sarah will under- 
stand that the United States is no palladium of religious lib- 
erty, if it cannot prevent a State from establishing Moham- 
medanism, as soon as a few forms can be complied with.” 

Sarah colored, glanced timidly at Michael Millington, 
but made no reply. She did not understand much of what 
she had just heard, though rather an intelligent girl, but 
had hoped that Jack and his friend were nearer right than 
was likely to turn out to be the case. Jack, himself, being 
a young limb of the law, comprehended what his uncle 
meant, and had the grace to color, too, at the manner in 
which he had manifested his ignorance of the great national 
compact. With a view to relieve himself from his dilem- 
ma, he cried, with a ready dexterity — 

“Well, since this won’t do, I must try the jury. ‘The 
trial by jury, the palladium of our liberties.’ How do you 
like that, sir ? ” 

“Worse than the other, boy. God protect the country 
that lias no better shield against wrong than that which a 
jury can hold before it.” 

Jack looked at Michael, and Michael looked at Jack ; 
while Sarah looked at both in turn. 

“You surely will not deny, sir, that the trial by jury is 
one of the most precious of the gifts received from our an- 
cestors ? ” said the first, a little categorically, Sarah bright- 
ening up at this question, as if she fancied that her brother 
had now got on solid ground. 

“Your question cannot be answered in a breath, Jack,” 
returned the uncle. “The trial by jury was undoubtedly 
a most precious boon bestowed on a people among whom 
there existed an hereditary ruling power, on the abuses of 
which it was often a most salutary check.” 


14 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR , 


“ Well, sir, is it not the same check here, assuring to the 
citizens independent justice ? ” 

“ Who compose the ruling power in America, Jack ? ” 

“ The people, to be sure, sir.” 

“ And who the jurors ? ” 

“ The people, too, I suppose,” answered the nephew, 
hesitating a little before he replied. 

“Well, let us suppose a citizen has a conflict of rights 
with the public, which is the government, who will com- 
pose the tribunal that is to decide the question ? ” 

“A jury, to be sure, sir. The trial by jury is guaran- 
teed by the constitution to us all.” 

“Ay,” said Mr. Dunscomb, smiling, “much as are our 
religious and political liberties. But according to your 
own admission, this is very much like making one of the 
parties a judge in his own case. A insists that he has a 
right to certain lands, for instance, which the public claims 
for itself. In such a case, part of the public compose the 
tribunal.” 

“ But is it not true, Mr. Dunscomb,” put in Millington, 
“ that the popular prejudice is usually against government, 
in all cases with private citizens ? ” 

Sarah’s face looked brighter now than ever, for she felt 
sure that Mike, as her brother familiarly called his friend, 
had asked a most apposite question. 

“ Certainly ; you are right as to particular sets of cases, 
but wrong as to others. In a commercial town like this, 
the feelfrig is against government in all cases connected 
with the collection of the revenue, I admit ; and you will 
see that the fact makes against the trial by jury in another 
form, since a judge ought to be strictly impartial ; above 
all prejudice whatever.” 

“ But, uncle, a judge and a jury are surely very different 
things,” cried Sarah, secretly impelled to come to Michael’s 
rescue, though she scarce knew anything of the merits of 
the subject. 

“ Quite right, my dear,” the uncle answered, nodding 
his head kindly, casting a glance at his niece that caused 
her to blush under the consciousness of being fully under- 
stood in her motives, if not in her remark. “ Most pro- 
foundly right ; a judge and a juror ought to be very differ- 
ent things. What I most complain of is the fact that the 
jurors are fast becoming judges. Nay, by George, they 
are getting to be legislators, making the law as well as in- 
terpreting it. How often does it happen, nowadays, that 


' THE WAYS OF T HE HOUR. 


*5 


the court tell the jury that siich is the law, and the jury 
comes in with a verdict which tells the court that such is 
not the law ? This is an every-day occurrence, in the actual 
state of public opinion.” 

“ But the court will order a new trial, if the verdict is 
against law and evidence,” said Michael, determined that 
Sarah should be sustained. 

“ Ay, and another jury will be quite likely to sustain the 
old one. No — no — the trial by jury is no more a palla- 
dium of our liberties than the constitution of the United 
States.”, 

“ Who, or what is, then, sir?” demanded Jack. 

“ God ! Yes, the Deity, in his Divine Providence ; if any- 
thing is to save us. It may not be his pleasure to let us 
perish, for it would seem that some great plan for the ad- 
vancement of civilization is goingon, and it may be a part 
of it to make us important agents. All things regarded, 
I am much inclined to believe such is the fact. But, did 
the result depend on us, miserable instruments in the all- 
mighty hands as we are, woful would be the end ! ” 

“ You do not look at things couleur de rose y Uncle Tom,” 
Sarah smilingly observed. 

“ Because I am not a young lady of twenty, who is well 
satisfied with herself and her advantages. There is but 
one character for which I have a greater contempt than 
that of a senseless grumbler, who regards all things a tort 
et a travers , and who cries, there is nothing good in the 
world.” 

“And what is the exception, sir?” 

“ The man who is puffed up with conceit and fancies 
all around him perfection, when so much of it is the re- 
verse; who ever shouts ‘ Liberty,’ in the midst of the direst 
oppression.” 

“But direst oppression is certainly no term to be ap- 
plied to anything in New York !” 

“You think not ? What would you say to a state of so- 
ciety in which the law is available to one class of citizens 
only, in the way of compulsion, and not at all, in the way 
of protection ? ” 

. “ I do not understand you, sir ; here, it is our boast that 
all are protected alike.” 

“Ay, so far as boasting goes, we are beyond reproach. 
But what are the facts ? Here is a man that, owes money. 
The law is appealed to, to compel payment. Verdict is 
rendered, and execution issued. The sheriff enters his 


l6 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 

house, and sells his very furniture, to extort the amount 
of the debt from him.” 

“ That is his misfortune, sir. Such things must happen 
to all debtors who cannot, or will not, pay.” 

“ If this were true, I should have nothing to say. Im- 
agine this very debtor to be also a creditor ; to have debts 
due to him, of many times the sums that he owes, but 
which the law will not aid him in collecting. For him the 
law is all oppression— no protection.” 

“But, surely, Uncle Tom, nothing of the sort exists 
here ! ” 

“ Surely, Miss Sarah Wilmeter, such things do exist 
here in practice, whatever may be the theory on the sub- 
ject ; what is more, they exist under the influence of facts 
that are directly connected with the working of the insti- 
tutions. My case is not suppositious at all, but real. 
Several landlords have quite recently felt all the rigors of 
the law as debtors, when it was a dead letter to them, in 
their character of creditors. This has actually happened, 
and that more than once ; and it might happen a hundred 
times, were the landlords more in debt. In the latter case 
it would be an every-day occurrence.” 

“What, sir,” exclaimed Michael Millington ; “the law 
enforce, when it will not protect ?” * - 

‘‘That it does, ypuhg man, in many interests that I 
could point out to you. But here is as flagrant a case of 
unmitigated tyranny as can be cited against any country 
in Christendom. A citizen is sold out of house and home, 
under process of law, for debt ; and when lie asks for the 
use of the same process of law to collect his undeniable 
dues, it is, in effect, denied him. And this among the peo- 
ple who boast that their independence is derived from a 
spirit that would not be taxed ! A people who are hourly 
shouting hosannas in honor of their justice ! ” 

“ It cannot be, Uncle Tom, that this is done, in terms,” 
cried the astounded nephew. 

“ If, by terms, you mean professions of justice, and lib- 
erty, and equal rights, they are fair enough ; in all those 
particulars we are irreproachable. As ‘professors,’ no peo- 
ple can talk more volubly or nearer to the point — I allude 
only to facts.” 

“ But these facts maybe explained— qualified — are not 
as flagrant as they seem under your statement ? ” 

“ In what manner?” 

“Why, sir, this is but a temporary evil, perhaps.” 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR . 


T 7 

“ It lias lasted not days, nor weeks, nor months, but 
years. What is more, it is an evil that has not occurred 
in a corner, where it might be overlooked ; but it exists 
within ten miles of your capital, in plain sight of your 
legislators, and owes its impunity solely to their profound 
deference to votes. In a word, it is a part of the political 
system under which we live ; and that far more so than 
any disposition to tyranny that might happen to manifest 
itself in an individual king.” 

“ Do not the tenants who refuse to pay fancy that their 
landlords have no right to their estates, and does not the 
whole difficulty arise from misapprehension ? ” asked Mi- 
chael, a little timidly. 

“What would that have to do with the service of proc- 
ess, if it were true ? When a sheriffs officer comes 
among these men, they take his authority from him, and 
send him away empty. Rights are to be determined only 
by the law, since they are derived from the law ; and he 
who meets the law at the threshold, and denies it entrance, 
can never seriously pretend that he resists because the 
other party has no claims. No, no, young gentleman — * 
this is all a fetch. Hie evil is of years’ standing ; it is of 
the character of the direst oppression, and of oppression 
of the worst sort, that of many oppressing a few ; cases in 
which the sufferer is cut oil lrom sympathy, as you can 
see by the apathy of the community, which is singing 
hosannas to its own perfection, while this great wrong is 
committed under its very nose. Had a landlord oppressed 
his tenants, their clamor would have made itself heard 
throughout the land. The worst feature in the case is 
that which connect's the whole thing so very obviously 
with the ordinary working of the institutions. If it were 
merely human covetousness struggling against the institu- 
tions, the last might prove the strongest ; but it is cupidity 
of the basest and most transparent nature, using the insti- 
tutions themselves to effect its purpose.” 

“ I am surprised that something was not done by the last 
convention to meet the evil !” said Jack, who was much 
struck with the enormity of the wrong, placed before his 
eyes in its simplest form, as it had been by his direct- 
minded and clear-headed kinsman. 

“ That is because you do not know what a convention 
has got to be. Its object is to push principles into im- 
practicable extremes, under the silly pretension of prog- 
ress, and not' to abate evils. I made a suggestion myself 


2 


l8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


to certain members of that convention, which, in my poor 
judgment, would have effectually cured this disease ; but 
no member had the courage to propose it. Doubtless it 
would have been useless had it been otherwise.” 

“ It was worth the trial, if such were likely to be the re- 
sult. What was your plan, sir ? ” 

“Simply to disfranchise any district in which the law 
could not be enforced by means of combinations of its 
people. On application to the highest court in the State, 
an order might be granted that no polls should be held in 
one or more towns or counties, in which combinations ex- 
isted of a force sufficient to prevent the laws from being 
put in force. Nothing could be more just than to say that 
men who will not obey the law shall not have a voice in 
making it, and to me it really seems that some such pro- 
vision would be the best possible expedient to check this 
growing evil. It would be choking the enemy with his 
own food.” 

“ Why was it not done, sir ? ” 

“Simply because our sages were speculating on votes, 
and not on principles. They will talk to you like so 
many books touching the vices , of all foreign systems, 
but are ready to die in defence of the perfection of their 
own.” 

“ Why was it necessary to make a new constitution the 
other day,” asked Sarah, innocently, “if the old one was 
so very excellent ? ” 

“ Sure enough — the answer might puzzle wiser heads 
than yours, child. Perfection requires a great deal of 
tinkering in this country. We scarcely adopt one plan 
that shall secure everybody’s rights and liberties, than an- 
other is broached to secure some newly-discovered rights 
and liberties. With the dire example before them, of the 
manner in which the elective franchise is abused, in this 
anti-rent movement, the sages of the land have just given 
to the mass the election of judges — as beautiful a scheme 
for making the bench coalesce with the jury-box as human 
ingenuity could invent!” 

As all present knew that Mr. Dunscomb was bitterly 
opposed to the new constitution, no one was surprised at 
this last assertion. It did create wonder, however, in the 
minds of all three of the ingenuous young persons, when 
the fact — an undeniable and most crushing one it is, too, 
so far as any high pretension to true liberty is concerned — 
was plainly laid before them, that citizens were to be found 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


19 

in New York against whom the law was rigidly enforced, 
while it was powerless in their behalf. We have never known 
this aspect of the case presented to any mind, that it did 
not evidently produce a deep impression, for the moment ; 
but, alas ! “ what is everybody’s business is nobody’s busi- 
ness,” and few care for the violation of a principle when 
the wrong does not affect themselves. These young folk 
were, like all around them, unconscious even that they 
dwelt in a community in which so atrocious a wrong was 
daily done, and, for the moment, were startled when the 
truth was placed before their eyes. The young men, near 
friends, and, by certain signs, likely to be even more close- 
ly united, were much addicted to speculating on the course 
of events, as they perceived them to be tending in other 
countries. Michael Millington, in particular, was a good 
deal of a general politician, having delivered several ora- 
tions, in which he had laid some stress on the greater hap- 
piness of the people of this much favored land over those 
of all other countries, and especially on the subject of 
equal rights. He was too young, yet, to have learned the 
wholesome truth, that equality of rights, in practice, exists 
nowhere ; the ingenuity and selfishness of man finding the 
means to pervert to narrow purposes , the most cautious 
laws that have ever been adopted in furtherance of a prin- 
ciple that would seem to be so just. Nor did he know that 
the Bible contains all the wisdom and justice, transmitted 
as divine precepts, that are necessary to secure to every 
man all that it is desirable to possess here below. 

The conversation was terminated by the entrance of a 
fourth colloquist, in the person of Edward McBrain, M.D., 
who was not only the family physician, but the bosom 
friend of the lawyer. The two liked each other on the 
principle of loving their opposites. One was a bachelor, 
the other was about to marry his third wife ; one was a lit- 
tle of a cynic, the other much of a philanthropist ; one 
distrustful of human nature, the other too confiding; one 
cautious to excess, the other absolutely impetuous, when- 
ever anything strongly interested his feelings. They were 
alike in being Manhattanese by-birth, somewhat a novelty 
in a New Yorker ; in being equally graduates of Columbia, 
and classmates ; in a real love of their fellow-creatures ; in 
goodness of heart and in integrity. Had either been want- 
ing in these last great essentials, the other could not have 
endured him. 


20 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


CHAPTER II. 

O change ! stupendous change ! 

There lies the soulless clod ; 

The sun eternal breaks — 

The new immortal wakes — 

Wakes with his God. — M rs. Southey. 

As Dr. McBrain entered the room, the two young men 
and Sarah, after saluting him like very familiar acquaint- 
ances, passed out into what the niece called her “garden.” 
Here she immediately set her scissors at work in clipping 
roses, violets, and other early flowers, to make bouquets 
for her companions. That of Michael was much the largest 
and most tasteful ; but this her brother did not remark, 
as he was in a brown study, reflecting on the singularity of 
the circumstance that the Constitution of the United States 
should not be the “ palladium of his political and religious 
liberties.” Jack saw, for the first time in his life, that a 
true knowledge of the constitution was not to be found 
floating about in society, and that “ there was more in the 
nature of the great national compact than was dreamed of 
in his philosophy.” 

“ Well, Ned,” said the lawyer, holding out his hand 
kindly, but not rising from his chair, “ what lias brought 
you here so early ? Has old Martha spoiled your tea ?” 

“Not at all ; I have paid this visit, as it might be, pro- 
fessionally.” 

“ Professionally ! I never was better in my life ; and set 
you down as a false prophet, or no doctor, if you like that 
better, for the gout has not even given a premonitory hint, 
this spring; and I hope, now I have given up Sauterne 
altogether, and take but four glasses of Madeira at din- 
ner ” 

. “ Two too many.” 

“I’ll engage to drink nothing but sherry, Ned, if you’ll 
consent to four, and that without any of those forbidding- 
looks.” 

“ Agreed ; sherry has less acidity, and consequently less 
gout, than Madeira. But my business here this morning, 
though professional, does not relate to my craft, but to 
your own.” 

“To the law ? Now I take another look at you, I do see 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR , . 


21 


trouble in your physiognomy ; am I not to draw the mar- 
riage settlements, after all ?” 

“There are to be none. The new law gives a woman the 
entire control of all her property, they tell me, and I sup- 
pose she will not expect the control of mine.” 

“ Umph ! Yes, she ought to be satisfied with things as 
they are, for she will remain mistress of all her cups and 
saucers, even — ay, and of her houses and lands in the bar- 
gain. Hang me, if I would ever marry, when the contract 
is so one-sided.” 

“You never did, when the contract was t’other sided. 
For my part, Tom, I’m disposed to leave a woman mistress 
of her own. The experiment is worth the trial, if it be 
only to see the use she will make of her money.” 

“ You are always experimenting among the women, and 
are about to try a third wife. Thank Heaven, I’ve got on 
sixty years quite comfortably, without even one.” 

“You have only half lived your life. No old bachelor — 
meaning a man after forty — knows anything of real happi- 
ness. It is necessary to be married, in order to be truly 
happy.” 

“ I wonder you did not add, ‘ two or three times.’ But 
you may make this new contract with greater confidence 
than either of the others. I suppose you have seen 'this 
new divorce project that is, or has been, before the legis- 
lature ? ” 

“ Divorce ! I trust no such foolish law will pass. This 
calling marriage a ‘contract,’ too, is what I never liked. 
It is something far more than a ‘contract,’ in my view of 
the matter.” . 

“ Still, that is what the law considers it to be. Get out 
of this new scrape, Ned, if you can with any honor, and 
remain an independent freeman for the rest of your days. 
I dare say the widow could soon find some other amorous 
youth to place her affections on. It matters not much 
whom a woman loves,- provided she love. Of this I’m cer- 
tain, from seeing the sort of animals so many do love.” 

“Nonsense ; a bachelor talking of love, or matrimony, 
usually makes a zany of himself. It is terra incognita to 
you, my boy, and the less you say about it the better. You 
are the only human being, Tom, l ever met with, who has 
not, some time or other, been in love. I really believe you 
never knew what the passion is.” 

. “ I fell in love, early in life, with a certain my lord Coke, 
and have remained true to my first attachment. Besides, 


22 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


I saw I had an intimate friend who would do all the mar- 
rying that was necessary for two, or even for three ; so I 
determined, from the first, to remain single. A man has 
only to be firm, and he may set Cupid at defiance. It is 
not so with women, I do believe ; it is part of their nature 
to love, else would no woman admire you, at your time of 
life.” 

“ I don’t know that — I am by no means sure of that. 
Each time I had the misfortune to become a widower I 
was just as determined to pass the remainder of my days 
in reflecting on the worth of her I had lost, as you can be 
to remain a bachelor ; but somehow or other, I don’t pre- 
tend to account for it, not a year passed before I have 
found inducements to enter into new engagements. It is 
a blessed thing, is matrimony, and I am resolved not to 
continue single an hour longer than is necessary.” 

Dunscomb laughed out at the earnest manner in which 
his friend spoke, though conversations like this we have 
been relating were of frequent occurrence between them. 

“The same old sixpence, Ned ! A Benedict as a boy, a 
Benedict as a man, and a Benedict as a dotard ” 

“ Dotard ! My good fellow, let me tell you ” 

“ Poh ! I don’t desire to hear it. But as you came on 
business connected with the law, and that business is not a 
marriage settlement, what is it ? Does old Kingsborough 
maintain his right to the Harlem lot ?” 

“No, he has given the claim up at last. My business, 
Tom, is of a very different nature. What are we coming 
to, and what is to be the end of it all ?” 

As the doctor looked far more than he expressed, Duns- 
comb was struck with his manner. The Siamese twins 
scarce understand each other’s impulses and wishes better 
than these two men comprehended each other’s feelings ; 
and Tom saw at once That Ned was now very much in 
earnest. 

“ Coming to ? ” repeated Dunscomb. “ Do you mean 
the new code, or the 1 Woman-hold-the-Purse-Law,’ as I 
call it ? I don’t believe you look far enough ahead to 
foresee all the damnable consequences of an elective 
judiciary.” 

“ It is not that — this or that — I do not mean codes, con- 
stitutions, or pin money. What is the country coming to, 
Tom Dunscomb — that is the question, I ask ?” 

“Well, and has the country nothing to do with constitu- 
tipns, codes, and elective judges ? I can tell you, Master 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


2 3 


Ned McBrain, M.D., that if the patient is to be saved at 
all, it must be by means of the judiciary, and I do not 
like the advice that has just been called in.” 

“You are a croaker. They tell me the new judges are 
reasonably good.” 

“ ‘ Reasonably’ is an expressive word. The new judges 
are old judges, in part, and in so much they do pretty well, 
by chance. Some of the new judges are excellent — but 
one of the very best men on the whole bench was run 
against one of the worst men who could have been put in 
his place. At the next heat I fear the bad fellow will get 
the track. If you do not mean what I have mentioned, 
what do you mean ? ” 

“I mean the increase of crime — the murders, arsons, 
robberies, and other abominations that seem to take root 
among us, like so many exotics transplanted to a genial 
soil.” 

“ ‘ Exotics ’ and ‘ genial ’ be hanged ! Men are alike 
everywhere. No one but a fool ever supposed that a re- 
public is to stand, or fall, by its virtue.” 

“Yet, the common opinion is that such must be the final 
test of our institutions.” 

“ Jack has just been talking nonsense on this subject, 
and now you must come to aid him. But, what has your 
business with me, this morning, to do with the general 
depreciation in morals?” 

“A great deal, as you will allow, when you come to 
hear my story.” 

Dr. McBrain then proceeded forthwith to deliver him- 
self of the matter which weighed so heavily on his mind. 
He was the owner of a small place in an adjoining 
county, where it was his custom to pass as much time, dur- 
ing the pleasant months, as a very extensive practice in 
town w’ould allQW. This was not much, it is true, though 
the worthy physician so contrived matters, that his visits 
to Tim bully, as the place was called, if not long, were tol- 
erably numerous. A kind-hearted, as well as a reasonably- 
affluent man, he never denied his. professional services to 
country neighbors, who eagerly asked his advice whenever 
there was need of it. This portion of the doctor’s practice 
flourished on two accounts— one being his known skill, 
and the other his known generosity. In a word, Dr. Mc- 
Brain never received any compensation for his advice 
from any in the immediate neighborhood of his country 
residence. This rendered him exceedingly popular ; and 


24 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


he might have been sent to Albany, but for a little 
icold water that was thrown on the project by a shrewd 
patriot, who suggested that while the physician was attend- 
ing to affairs of state he could not be administering to the 
ailings of his Timbullv neighbors. This may have checked 
the doctor’s advancement, but it did not impair his popu- 
larity. 

Now, it happened that the bridegroom-expectant had 
been out to Timbully, a distance of less than fifteen miles 
from his house in Bleecker Street, with a view to order 
matters for the reception of the bride, it being the inten- 
sion of the couple that were soon to be united to pass a 
few days there, immediately after the ceremony was per- 
formed. It was while at his place, attending to this most 
important duty, that an express came from the county- 
town, requiring his presence before the coroner, where he 
was expected to give his evidence as a medical man. It 
'seems that a house had been burned, and its owners, an 
aged couple, had been burned in it. The remains of the 
bodies had been found, and an inquest was about to be 
•held on them. This was pretty much all that the messen- 
ger could tell, though he rather thought that it was sus- 
pected the house had been set on fire, and the old people, 
consequently, murdered. 

As a matter of course, Dr. McBrain obeyed the sum- 
mons. A county town, in America, is often little more 
than a hamlet, though in New York they are usually places 
of some greater pretensions. The State has now near a 
dozen incorporated cities, with their mayors and aldermen, 
and, with one exception, we believe these are all county 
towns. Then come the incorporated villages, in which 
New York is fast getting to be rich ; places containing from 
one to six or seven thousand souls, and which, as a rule, 
are steadily growing into respectable provincial towns. 
The largest of these usually contain “ the county build- 
ings,” as it is the custom to express it. But, in the older 
counties, immediately around the great commercial capital 
of the entire republic, these large villages do not always 
exist ; or, when they do exist, are not sufficiently central 
•to meet the transcendental justice of democratic equality 
— a quality that is sometimes of as exacting pretension as 
of real imbecility ; as witness the remarks of Mr. Duns- 
comb, in our opening chapter. 

The county buildings of happen to stand in a small 

village, or what is considered a small village, in the lower 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


2 5 


part of the State. As the events of this tale are so recent, 
and the localities so familiar to many persons, we choose 
to call this village “ Biberry,” and the pounty “ Dukes.” 
Such was once the name of a New York county, though 
the appellation has been dropped, and this not from any 
particular distaste for the strawberry leaves; “Kings,” 
“Queens,” and “Duchess” having been wisely retained— 
wisely, as names should be as rarely changed as public 
convenience will allow. 

Dr. McBrain found the village of Biberry in a high state 
of excitement ; one, indeed, of so intense a nature as to be 
far from favorable to the judicial inquiry that was then 
going on in the court-house. The old couple who were 
the sufferers in this affair had been much respected by ail 
who knew them ; he as a commonplace, well-meaning man, 
of no particular capacity, and she as a managing, discreet, 
pious woman, whose greatest failing was a neatness that 
was carried somewhat too near to ferocity. Nevertheless, 
Mrs. Goodwin was, generally, even more respected than 
her husband, for she had the most mind, transacted most 
of the business of the family, and was habitually kind and 
attentive to every one who entered her dwelling ; provided, 
always, that they wiped their feet on her mats, of which it 
was necessary to pass no less than six before the little 
parlor was reached, and did not spit on her carpet, or did' 
not want any of her money. This popularity added greatly 
to the excitement : men, and women also, commonly feel-’ 
ing a stronger desire to investigate wrongs done to those 1 
they esteem, than to investigate wrongs done to those con- 
cerning whom they are indifferent. 

Dr. McBrain found the charred remains of this unfort- 
unate couple laid on a table in the court-house, the coro- 
ner in attendance, and a jury impanelled. Much of the’ 
evidence concerning the discovery of the fire had been 
gone through with, and was of a very simple character." 
§ome one who was stirring earlier than common had seen 
the house in a bright blaze, had given the alarm, and had 
preceded the crowd from the village on the road to the 
burning dwelling. The Goodwins had resided in a neat, 
retired cottage, at the distance of near two miles from 
Biberry, though in sight from the village ; and by the 
time the first man from the latter reached the -spot the 
roof had fallen in, and the materials were mostly con- 
sumed. A dozen, or more, of the nearest neighbors were 
collected around the ruins, and some articles of household 


26 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


furniture had been saved ; but, on the whole, it was re- 
garded as one of the most sudden and destructive fires 
ever known in that part of the country. When the engine 
arrived from the village it played briskly on the fire, and 
was the means of soon reducing all within the outer walls, 
which were of stone, to a pile of blackened and smouldering 
wood. It was owing to this circumstance that any portion 
of the remains of the late owners of the house had been 
found, as was done in the manner thus described, in his 
testimony, by Peter Bacon, the person who had first given 
the alarm in Biberry. 

“ As soon as I ever seed it was Peter Goodwin’s house 
that made the light,” continued the intelligent witness, in 
the course of his examination. — “ I guv’ the alarm, and 
started off on the run, to see what I could do. By the 
time I got to the top of Brudler’s Hill I was fairly out of 
breath, I can tell you, Mr. Coroner and Gentlemen of the 
Jury, and so I was obliged to pull up a bit. This guv’ the 
fire a so much better sweep, and when I reached the spot, 
there was little chance for doing much good. We got out a 
chest of drawers, and the young woman who boarded with 
the Goodwins was helped down out of the window, and 
most of her clothes, I b’lieve, was saved, so far as I know.” 

“ Stop,” interrupted the coroner ; “ there was a young 
woman in the house, you say ? ” 

“ Yes ; what I call a young woman, or a gal like ; though 
other some calls her a young woman. Waal, she was got 
out ; and her clothes was got out ; but nobody could get 
out the old folks. As soon as the ingyne come up we 
turned on the water, and that put out the fire about the 
quickest. Arter that we went to diggin’, and soon found 
what folks call the remains, though to my notion there is 
little enough on ’em that is left.” 

‘•You dug out the remains,” said the coroner, writing; 
“ in what state did you find them ?” 

“ In what I call a pretty poor state ; much as you see 
’em there, on the table.” 

“ What has become of the young lady you have men- 
tioned?” inquired the coroner, who, as a public function- 
ary, deemed it prudent to put all of the sex into the same 
general category. 

“ I can’t tell you, squire ; I never see’d her arter she was 
got out of the window.” 

“ Do you mean that she was the hired-girl of the family 
— or had the lady no help ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


27 


“ I kinder think she was a boarder, like ; one that paid 
her keeping” answered the witness, who was not a person 
to draw very nice distinctions, as the reader will have no 
difficulty in conceiving from his dialect. “ It seems to me 
I hear’n tell of another help in the Goodwin family — a 
sorter Jarman, or Irish lady." 

“Was any such woman seen about the house this morn- 
ing, when the ruins were searched ? ” 

“Notas/’ner. We turned over the brands and sticks 
until we come across the old folks ; then everybody seemed 
to think the work was pretty much done.” 

“In what state, or situation, were these remains found ? ” 

“ Burnt to a crisp, just as you see ’em, squire, as I said 
afore ; a pretty poor state for human beings to be in.” 

“But where were they lying, and were they near each 
other ? ” 

“Close together. Their heads, if a body can call them 
black-lookin’ skulls heads, at all, almost touched, if they 
didn’t quite touch, each other ; their feet lay further 
apart.” 

“ Do you think you could place the skeletons in the 
same manner, as respects each other, as they were when 
you first saw them ? But let me first inquire, if any other 
person is present, who saw these remains before they had 
been removed ?” 

Several men, and one or two women, who were in at- 
tendance to be examined, now came forward, and stated 
that they had seen the remains in the condition in which 
they had been originally found. Selecting the most intel- 
ligent of the party, after questioning them all round, the 
coroner desired that the skeletons might be laid, as near 
as might be, in the same relative , positions as those in 
which they had been found. There was a difference of 
opinion among the witnesses, as to several of the minor 
particulars, though all admitted that the bodies, or what 
remained of them, had been found quite close together ; 
their heads touching, and their feet some little distance 
apart. In this manner, then, were the skeletons now dis- 
posed ; the arrangement being completed j ust as Dr. McBrain 
entered the court-room. The coroner immediately directed 
the witnesses to stand aside, while the physician made an 
examination of the crisp bones. 

“ This looks like foul play ! ” exclaimed the doctor, al- 
most as soon as his examination commenced. “ The skulls 
of both these persons have been fractured ; and, if this be 


28 


THE V/A YS OF THE HOUR. 

anything near the positions in which the skeletons were 
found, as it would seem, by the same blow.” 

He then pointed out to the coroner and jury a small 
fracture in the frontal bone of each skull, and so nearly 
in a line as to render his conjecture highly probable. This 
discovery gave an entirely new coloring to the whole oc- 
currence, and every one present began to speculate on the 
probability of arson and murder being connected with the 
unfortunate affair. The Goodwins were known to have 
lived at their ease, and the good woman, in particular, had 
the reputation of being a little miserly. As everything 
like order vanished temporarily from the court room, and 
tongue's were going in all directions, many things, were 
related that were really of a suspicious character, especially 
by the women. The coroner adjourned the investigation 
for the convenience of irregular conversation, in order to 
obtain useful clews to the succeeding inquiries, 

“ You say that old Mrs. Goodwin had a good deal of 
specie ?” inquired that functionary of a certain Mrs. Pope, 
a widow woman who had been free with her communica- 
tions, and who very well might know more than the rest 
of the neighbors, from a very active propensity she had 
ever manifested, to look into the affairs of all around her. 
“Did I understand you, that you had seen this money 
yourself ? ” 

“Yes, sir; often and often. She kept it in a stocking 
of the old gentleman’s, that was nothing but darns ; so 
darny like, that nobody could wear it. Miss Goodwin 
wasn’t a woman to put away anything that was of use. A 
clusser body wasn’t to be found, anywhere near Biberry.” 

“And some of this money was gold, I think I heard you 
say. A stocking pretty well filled with gold and silver.” 

“ The foot was cramming full, when I saw it, and that 
Wasn’t three months since. I can’t say there was any great 
matter in the leg. Yes, there was gold in it, too. She 
showed me the stocking the last time I saw it, on purpose 
to ask me what might be the valie of a piece of gold that 
was almost as big as half a dollar.” 

“ Should you know that piece of gold, were you to see 
it, again ? ” 

“ That I should. I didn’t know its name, or its valie, 
for I never seed so big a piece afore, but I told Miss Good- 
win I thought it must be ra’al Californy. Them’s about 
now, they tell me, and I hope poor folks will come in for 
their share. Old as I am — that is, not so very old neither 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


29 

—but such as I am, I never had a piece of £old in mv 
life.” Y 

“You cannot tell, then, the name of this particular 
coin ?” 

“ I couldn’t ; if I was to have it for the telling, I couldn’t. 
It wasn’t a live dollar piece ; that I know, for the old lady 
had a good many of them , and this was much larger, and 
yellower, too ; better gold, I conclude.” 

The coroner was accustomed to garrulous, sight-seeing 
females, and knew how to humor them. 

“Where did Mrs. Goodwin keep her specie ? ” he in- 
quired. “ If you ever saw her put the stocking away, you 
must know its usual place of deposit.” 

“ In her chest of drawers,” answered the woman eager- 
ly. “ That very chest of drawers which was got out of 
the house, as sound as the day it went into it, and has been 
brought down into the village for safe keeping.” 

All this was so, and measures were taken to push the 
investigation further, and in that direction. Three or four 
young men, willing volunteers in such a cause, brought 
the bureau into. the court-room,’ and the coroner directed 
that each of the drawers should be publicly opened, in the 
presence of the jurors. The widow was first sworn, how- 
ever, and testified regularly to the matter of the stocking, 
the money, and the place of usual deposit. 

“Ah ! you’ll not find it there,” observed Mrs. Pope, as 
the village cabinet-maker applied a key, the wards of 
which happened to fit those' of the locks in question. 
“ She kept her money in the lowest drawer of all. I’ve 
seen her take the stocking out, first and last, at least a 
dozen times.” 

The lower drawer was opened, accordingly. It contained 
female apparel, and a goodly store of such articles as were 
suited to the wants of a respectable woman in the fourth 
or fifth of the gradations into which all society so natural- 
ly, and unavoidably, divides itself. But there was no 
stocking full of darns, no silver, no gold. Mrs. Pope’s 
busy and nimble fingers were thrust hastily into, an inner 
corner of the drawer, and a silk dress was unceremoniously 
opened, that having been the precise receptacle of the treas- 
ure as she had seen it last bestowed. 

“ It’s gone ! ” exclaimed the woman. “ Somebody must 
have taken it ! ” 

A great deal was now thought to be established. The 
broken skulls, and the missing money, went near to estab- 


30 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


lisli a case of murder and robbery, in addition to the high 
crime of arson. Men, who had worn solemn and grave 
countenances all that morning, now looked excited arid 
earnest. The desire for a requiting justice was general and 
active, and the dead became doubly dear, by means of their 
wrongs. 

All this time Dr. McBrain had been attending, exclusive-* 
ly, to the part of the subject that most referred to his own 
profession. Of the fractures in the two skulls, he was well 
assured, though the appearance of the remains was such as 
almost to baffle investigation. Of another important fact 
he was less certain. While all he heard prepared him to 
meet with the skeletons of a man and his wife, so far as he 
could judge, in the imperfect state in which they were 
laid before him, the bones were those of two females. 

“Did you know this Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Coroner?" in- 
quired the physician, breaking into the more regular ex- 
ammination with very little ceremony ; “ or was he well 
known to any here ? ” 

The coroner had no very accurate knowledge of the de- 
ceased, though every one of the jurors had been well 
acquainted with him. Several had known him all their 
lives. 

“ Was he a man of ordinary size ? ” asked the doctor. 

“Very small. Not taller than his wife, who might be 
set down as quite a tall old lady." 

It often happens in Europe, especially in England, that 
the man and his wife are so nearly of a height as to leave 
very little sensible difference in their stature ; but it is a 
rare occurrence in this country. In America, the female 
is usually delicate, and of a comparatively small frame, 
while the average height of a man is something beyond 
that of the European standard. It was a little out of the 
common way, therefore, to meet with a couple so nearly of 
a size, as these remains would make Goodwin and his wife 
to have been. 

“These skeletons are very nearly of the same length," 
resumed the doctor, after measuring them for the fifth 
time. “ The man could not have been much if any taller 
than his wife." 

“ He was not," answered a juror. “Old Peter Goodwin 
could not have been more than five feet five, and Dorothy 
was all of that, I should think. When they came to meet- 
ing together, they looked much of a muchness." 

Now there is nothing on which a prudent and regular 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


3* 


physician is more cautious than in committing himself on 
unknown and uncertain ground. He has his theories, and 
his standard of opinions, usually well settled in his mind, 
and he is ever on the alert to protect and bolster them ; 
seldom making any admission that may contravene either. 
He is apt to denounce the water cure, however surprising 
may have been its effects ; and there is commonly but one 
of the “opathies” to which he is in the least disposed to 
defer, and that is the particular “opathy ” on which he 
has moulded his practice. As for Dr. McBrain, he belonged 
strictly to the allopathic school, and might be termed al- 
most an ultra in his adherence to its laws, while the 
number of the new schools that were springing up around 
him, taught him caution, as well as great prudence, in 
the expression of his opinions. Give him a patient, and 
he went to work boldly, and with the decision and nerve 
of a physician accustomed to practice in an exaggerated 
climate ; but place him before the public, as a theoretical 
man, and he was timid and wary. His friend Dunscomb 
had observed this peculiarity, thirty years before the com- 
mencement of our tale, and had quite recently told him, 
“You are bold in the only thing in which I am timid, 
Ned, and that is in making up to the women. If Mrs. Up- 
dyke were a new-fangled theory, now, instead of an old- 
fashioned widow, as she is, hang me if I think you would 
have ever had the spirit to propose.” This peculiarity of 
temperament, and, perhaps, we might add of character, 
rendered Dr. McBrain, now, very adverse to saying, in the 
face of such probability, and the statements of so many 
witnesses, that the mutilated and charred skeletons that lay 
on the court-house table were those of two females, and not 
those of a man and his wife. It was certainly possible he 
might be mistaken ; for the conflagration had made sad 
work of these poor emblems of mortality ; but science has 
a clear eye, and the doctor was a skilful and practised anat- 
omist. In his own mind, there were very few doubts on 
the subject. 

As soon as the thoughtful physician found time to turn 
his attention on the countenances of those who composed 
the crowd in the court-room, he observed that nearly all 
eves were bent on the person of one particular female, 
who sat apart, and was seemingly laboring under a shock 
of some sort or other, that materially affected her nerves. 
McBrain saw, at a glance, that this person belonged to a 
class every way superior to that of even the highest of 


32 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


those who pressed around the table. The face was con- 
cealed in a handkerchief, but the form w T as not only 
youthful but highly attractive. Small, delicate hands and 
feet could be seen ; such hands and feet as we are all ac- 
customed to see in an American girl, who has been deli- 
cately brought up. Her dress was simple, and of studied 
modesty ; but there was an air about that , which a little 
surprised the kind-jiearted individual, who was now so 
closely observing her. 

The doctor had little difficulty in learning from those 
near him that this “ young woman,” so all in the crowd 
styled her, though it was their practice to term most girls, 
however humble their condition, “ ladies,” had been re- 
siding with the Goodwins for a few w T eeks, in the character 
of a boarder, as some asserted, while others affirmed it 
was as a friend , ’ At all events, there was a mystery about 
her; and most of the girls of Biberry had called her 
proud, because she did not join in their frivolities, flirta- 
tions and visits. It was true, no one had ever thought of 
discharging the duties of social life by calling on her, or 
in making the advances usual to well-bred people ; but this 
makes little difference where there is a secret conscious- 
ness of inferiority, and of an inferiority that is felt, while 
it is denied. Such things are of every-day occurrence, in 
country-life in particular, while American town-life is far 
from being exempt from the weakness* In older coun- 
tries, the laws of society are better respected. 

It was now plain that the blight of suspicion had fallen 
on this unknown, and seemingly friendless girl. If the 
fire had been communicated intentionally, who so likely 
to be guilty as she ? — if the money was gone, who had so 
many means of securing it as herself ? These were ques- 
tions that passed from one to another, until distrust 
gathered so much head, that the coroner deemed it ex- 
pedient to adjourn the inquest, while the proof might be 
collected, and offered in proper form. 

Dr. McBrain was, by nature, kind-hearted ; then he 
could not easily get over that stubborn scientific fact, of both 
the skeletons having belonged to females. It is true that, 
admitting this to be the case, it threw very little light on 
the matter, and in no degree lessened any grounds of sus- 
picion that might properly rest on the “young woman 
but it separated him from the throng, and placed his mind 
in a sort of middle condition, in which he fancied it might 
be prudent, as well as charitable, to doubt. Perceiving 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


33 


that the crowd was dispersing, though not without much 
animated discussion in undertones, and that the subject of 
all this conversation still remained in her solitary corner, 
apparently unconscious of what was going on,' the worthy 
doctor approached the immovable figure, and spoke. 

“You have come here as a witness, I presume,” he said, 
in a gentle tone ; “if so, your attendance just now will no 
longer be necessary, the coroner having adjourned the in- 
quest until to-morrow afternoon.” 

At the first sound of his voice, the solitary female re- 
moved a fine cambric handkerchief from her face, and per- 
mitted her new companion to look upon it. We shall say 
nothing, here, touching that countenance or any other 
personal peculiarity, as a sufficiently minute description 
will be given in the next chapter, through the communica- 
tions made by Dr. McBrain to Dunscomb. Thanking her 
informant for his information, and exchanging a few brief 
sentences on the melancholy business which had brought 
both there, the young woman arose, made a slight but 
very graceful inclination of her body, and withdrew. 

Dr. McBrain’s purpose was made up on the spot. He saw 
very plainly that a fierce current of suspicion was Setting 
against this pleasing, and, as it seemed to him, friendless 
young creature ; and he determined at once to hasten back 
to town, and get his friend to go out to Biberry, without a 
moment’s delay, that he might appear there that very after- 
noon in the character of counsel to the helpless. 


CHAPTER III. 

I am informed thoroughly of the cause. 

Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew? 

— Merchcmt of Venice. 

Such was. the substance of the communication that Dr. 
McBrain now made to his friend, Tom Dunscomb. The 
latter had listened with an interest lie did not care to be- 
tray, and when the other was done he gayly cried — 

“ I’ll tell the Widow Updyke of you, Ned !” 

“She knows the whole story already, and is very anx- 
ious lest you should have left town, to go to the Rockland 
circuit, where she has been told you have an important 
case to try.” 

3 


34 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


“ The case goes over on account of the opposite coun- 
sel’s being in the court of appeals. Ah’s me ! I have no 
pleasure in managing a cause since this Code of Pro- 
cedure has innovated on all our comfortable and venerable 
modes of doing business. I believe I shall close up my 
affairs, and retire, as soon as I can bring all my old cases to 
a termination.” 

“ If you can bring those old cases to a termination, you 
will be the first lawyer who ever did.” 

“Yes, it is true, Ned,” answered Dunscomb, coolly 
taking a pinch of snuff, “ you doctors have the advantage 
of us, in this behalf ; your cases certainly do not last for- 
ever.” 

“Enough of this, Tom — you will go to Biberry, I take it 
for granted ? ” 

“ You have forgotten the fee. Under the new code, com- 
pensation is a matter of previous agreement.” 

“You shall have a pleasant excursion, over good roads, 
in the month of May, in an easy carriage, and drawn by 
a pair of as spirited horses as ever trotted on the Third 
Avenue.” 

“The animals you have just purchased in honor of Mrs. 
Updyke that is — Mrs. McBrain that is to be- — ” touching 
the bell, and adding to the very respectable black who im- 
mediately answered the summons, “Tell Master Jack and 
Miss Sarah I wish to see them. So, Ned, you have let the 
widow know all about it, and she does not pout or look 
distrustful — that is a good symptom, at least.” 

“ I would not marry a jealous woman, if I never had a 
wife.” 

“Then you will never marry at all. Why, Dr. Mc- 
Brain, it is in the nature of woman to be distrustful — to 
be jealous — to fancy things that are merely figments of 
the brain.” 

“You know nothing about them, and would be wisest 
to be silent— but here are the young people already, to ask 
your pleasure.” 

“Sarah, my dear,” resumed the uncle in a kind and af- 
fectionate tone of voice, one that the old bachelor almost 
universally held toward that particular relative, “ I must 
give you a little trouble. Go into my room, child, and 
put up, in my smallest travelling bag, a clean shirt, a hand- 
kerchief or two, three or four collars, and a change all 
round, for a short, expedition into the country.” 

“ Country ! Do you quit us to-day, sir ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


35 


“Within an hour, at latest,” looking at his watch. “If 
we leave the door at ten, we can reach Biberry before the 
inquest reassembles. You told those capital beasts of 
yours, Ned. to come here ?” 

“ I told Stephen to give them a hint to that effect. You 
may rely on their punctuality.” 

“Jack, you had better be of our party. I go on some 
legal business of importance, and it may be well for you to 
go along, in order to pick up an idea or two.” 

“And why not M'ichael also, sir? He has as much need 
of ideas as I have myself.” 

A pretty general laugh succeeded, though Sarah, who 
was just quitting the room, did not join in it. She rather 
looked grave, as well as a little anxiously toward the last 
named neophyte of the law. 

“ Shall we want any books, sir ? ” demanded the nephew. 

“ Why, yes — we will take the Code of Procedure. One 
can no more move without that , just now, than he can 
travel in some, countries without a passport. Yes, put 
up the code, Jack, and we’ll pick it to pieces as we trot 
along.” 

“ There is little need of that, sir, if what they say be true. 
I hear, from all quarters, that it is doing that for itself, on 
a gallop.” 

“ Shame on thee, lad — I have half a mind to banish 
thee to Philadelphia ! But put up the code ; thy joke 
can’t be worse than that joke. As for Michael, he can ac- 
company us if he wish it ; but you must both be ready by 
ten. At ten, precisely, we quit my door, in the chariot of 
Phoebus, eh, Ned?” 

“ Call it what you please, so you do but go. Be active, 
young gentlemen, for we have no time to throw away. The 
jury meet again at two, and we have several hours of road 
before us. I will run round and look at my slate, and be 
here by the time you are ready.” 

On this suggestion everybody was set in active motion. 
John went for his books, and to fill a small rubber bag for 
himself, Michael did the same, and Sarah was busy in her 
uncle’s room. As for Dunscomb, he made the necessary 
disposition of some papers, wrote two or three notes, and 
held himself at the command of his friend. This affair 
was just the sort of professional business in which he 
liked to be engaged. Not that he had any sympathy with 
crime, for he was strongly averse to all communion with 
rogues ; but it appeared to him, by the representations of 


36 


THE JVAYS OF THE HOUR. 


the doctor, to be a mission of mercy. A solitary, young’, 
unfriended female, accused, or suspected, of a most hein- 
ous crime, and looking around for a protector and an ad- 
viser, was an object too interesting for a man of his tem- 
perament to overlook, under the appeal that had been 
made. Still he was not the dupe of his feelings. All his 
coolness, sagacity, knowledge of human nature, and pro- 
fessional attainments, were just as active in him as they 
ever had been in his life. Two things he understood well ; 
that we are much too often deceived by outward signs, 
mistaking character by means of a fair exterior, and studied 
words, and that neither youth, beauty, sex, nor personal 
graces were infallible preventives of the worst offences, on 
the one hand ; and that, on the other, men nurture dis- 
trust and suspicion often, until it grows too large to be 
concealed, by means of their own propensity to feed the 
imagination and to exaggerate. Against these two weak- 
nesses he was now resolved to arm himself ; and when the 
whole party drove from the door, our counsellor was as 
clear-headed and impartial, according to *his own notion 
of the matter, as if lie were a judge. 

By this time the young men had obtained a general 
notidn of the business they were on, and the very first 
subject that was started, on quitting the door, was in 
a question put by John Wilmeter, in continuation of a 
discussion that had been commenced between himself and 
his friend. 

“ Mike and I have a little difference of opinion, on a 
point connected with this matter, which I could wish you to 
settle for us, as an arbiter. On the supposition that you 
find reason to believe that this young woman has really 
committed these horrible crimes, what would be your duty 
in the case — to continue to befriend her, and advise her, 
and use your experience and talents in order to shield 
her against the penalties of the law, or to abandon her 
at once ? ” 

“In plain English, Jack, you and your brother student 
wish to know whether I am to act as a palladium, or as a 
runagate, in this affair. As neophytes in your craft, it may 
be well to suggest to you, in the first place, that I have not 
yet been feed. I never knew a lawyer’s conscience trouble 
him about questions in casuistry, until he had received 
something down.” 

“ But you can suppose that something paid, in this case, 
sir, and then answer our question.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


37 


* “This is just the case in which I can suppose nothing 
of the sort. Had McBrain given me to understand I was 
to meet a client with a well-lined purse, who was accused 
of arson and murder, I would have seen him married to, two 
women at the same time before I would have budged. It’s 
the want of a fee that takes me out of town this morning.” 

“ And the same want, I trust, sir, will stimulate you to 
solve our difficulty.” 

The uncle laughed, and nodded his head, much as if he 
would say, “Pretty well for you;" then he gave a thought 
to the point in professional ethics that had started up be- 
tween his two students. 

“ This is a very old question with the profession, gentle- 
men,” Dunscomb answered, a little more gravely. “You 
will find men who maintain that the lawyer has, morally, a 
right to do whatever his client would do ; that he puts him- 
self in the place of the man he defends, and is expected to 
do everything precisely as if he were the accused party 
himself. I rather think that some vague notion, quite as 
loose as this, prevails pretty generally among what one 
may call the minor moralists of the profession.” 

“ I confess, sir, that I have been given to understand that 
some such rule ought to govern our conduct,” said Michael 
Millington, who had been in Dunscomb’s office only for 
the last six months. 

“ Then you have been very loosely and badly instructed 
in the duties of an advocate, Mr. Michael. A more per- 
nicious doctrine was never broached, or one better suited to 
make men scoundrels. Let a young man begin practice 
with such notions, and tyvo or three thieves for clients will 
prepare him to commit petit larceny, and a case or two of 
perjury would render him an exquisite at an affidavit. No, 
my boys, here is your rule in this matter : an advocate has a 
right to do whatever his client has a right to do — not what 
his client would do.” 

“Surely, sir, an advocate is justified in telling his client 
to plead not guilty, though guilty ; and in aiding him to 
persuade a jury to acquit him, though satisfied himself he 
ought to be convicted ! ” 

“You have got hold of the great point in the case, Jack, 
and one on which something may be said on both sides. 
The law is so indulgent as to permit an accused who has 
formally pleaded ‘guilty,’ thus making a distinct admis- 
sion of his crime, to withdraw that plea, and put in another 
of ‘ not guilty.’ Now, had the same person made a similar 


38 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


admission out of court, and under circumstances that put 
threats or promises out of the question, the law would have 
accepted that admission as the best possible evidence of his 
guilt. It is evident, therefore, that an understanding exists, 
to which the justice of the country is a party, that a man, 
though guilty, shall get himself out of the scrape if he can do 
so by legal means. No more importance is attached to the 
‘ not guilty ’ than to the ‘ not at home ’ to a visitor ; it being 
understood, by general convention, that neither means any- 
thing. Some persons are so squeamish, as to cause their 
servants to say ‘they are engaged,’ by way of not telling a 
lie ; but a lie consists in the intentional deception, and 
‘ not in ’ and ‘ not guilty ’ mean no more, in the one case, 
than ‘you can’t see my master,’ and in the other, than ‘ I’ll 
run the chances of a trial.’ ” 

“ After all, sir, this is goifig pretty near the wind, in the 
way of morals.” 

“ It certainly is. The Christian man who has committed 
a crime ought not to attempt to deny it to his country, as 
he certainly can not to his God. Yet, nine hundred and 
ninety-nine out of a thousand of the most straight-laced 
Christians in the community would so deny their guilt if 
arraigned. We must not tax poor human nature too heav- 
ily, though I think the common law contains many things, 
originating in a jealousy of hereditary power, that it is a 
great folly for us to preserve. But, while we are thus sett- 
ling principles we forget facts. You have told me nothing 
of your client, Ned.” 

“ What would you wish to know ? ” 

“ You call her young, I remember ; what may be her 
precise age ? ” 

“ That is more than I know ; somewhere between sixteen 
and five-and-twenty.” 

“ Five-and-twenty ! Is she as old as that ? ” 

“ I rather think not ; but I have been thinking much of 
her this morning, and I really do not remember to have 
seen another human being who is so difficult to describe.” 

“ She has eyes, of course ?” 

“Two — and very expressive they are ; though, sworn, I 
could not tell their color.” 

“And hair?” 

“ In very great profusion ; so much of it, and so very 
fine and shining, that it was the very first thing about her 
person which I observed. But I have not the least notion 
of its color.” 


THE W AYS OF THE HOUR. 


39 


“ Was it red ? ” 

“ No ; nor yellow, nor golden, nor black, nor brown — 
and yet a little of all blended together, I should say.” 

“ Ned, I’ll tell the Widow Updyke of thee, thou rogue !” 

“Tell her, and welcome. She has asked me all these 
questions herself, this very morning.” 

“Oh, she has, has she? Umph! Woman never changes 
her nature. You cannot say anything about the eyes, be- 
yond the fact of their being very expressive ? ” 

“And pleasing ; more than that, even— engaging ; win- 
ning is a better term.” 

“Ned, you dog, you have never told the widow one- 
half ! ” 

“ Every syllable. I even went further, and declared I 
had never beheld a countenance that, in so short an inter- 
view, made so deep an impression on me. If I were not 
to see this young woman again, I should never forget the 
expression of her face — so spirited, so sad, so gentle, so 
feminine, and so very intelligent. It seemed to me to be 
what I should call an illuminated countenance.” 

“ Handsome ? ” 

“Not unusually so, among our sweet American girls, ex- 
cept through the expression. That was really wonderful ; 
though, you will remember, I saw her under very peculiar 
circumstances.” 

“ Oh, exceedingly peculiar. Dear old soul ; what a 
thump she has given him ! How were her mouth and her 
teeth ? — complexion, stature, figure, and smile ? ” 

“ I can tell you little of all these. Her teeth are fine ; 
for she gave me a faint smile, such as a lady is apt to give 
a man in quitting him, and I saw just enough of the teeth 
to know that they are exceedingly fine. You smile, young 
gentlemen ; but you may have a care for your hearts, in 
good truth ; for if this strange girl interests either of you 
one-half as much as she has interested me, she will be 
either Mrs. John Wilmeter, or Mrs. Michael Millington, 
within a twelvemonth.” 

Michael looked very sure that she would never fill the 
last situation, which was already bespoke for Miss Sarah 
Wilmeter ; and as for Jack, he laughed outright. 

“We’ll tell Mrs. Updyke of him, when we get back, and 
break off that affair, at least,” cried the uncle, winking at 
the nephew, but in away his friend should see him ; “then 
there will be one marriage the less in the world.” 

“But is she a lady, doctor?” demanded John, after a 


40 


THE WA YS OF THE HO UR. 


short pause. “ My wife must have some trifling claims in 
that way, I can assure you.” 

“As for family, education, association, and fortune, I can 
say nothing — I know nothing. Yet will I take upon my- 
self to say she is a lady — and that, in the strict signification 
of the term.” 

“You are not serious now, Ned ! ” exclaimed the coun- 
sellor, quickly. “ Not a bony fide , as some of our gentlemen 
have it ? You cannot mean exactly what you say.” 

“ I do, though ; and that literally.” 

“And she suspected of arson and murder ! Where are 
her connections and friends — those who make her a lady ? 
Why is she there alone, and, as you say, unfriended ?” 

“ So it seemed to me. You might as well ask me why 
she is there at all. I know nothing of all this. I heard 
plenty of reasons in the street, why she ought to be dis- 
trusted — nay, convicted ; for the feeling against her had 
got to be intense before I left Biberry ; but no one could 
tell me whence she came, or why she was there.” 

“ Did you learn her name ? ” 

“ Yes ; that was in every mouth, and I could not help 
hearing it. She was called Mary Monson by the people of 
Biberry — but I much doubt if that be her real name.” 

“So, your angel in disguise will have to be tried under 
an ‘ alias.’ That is not much in her favor, Ned. I shall 
ask no more questions, but wait patiently to see and judge 
for myself.” 

The young men put a few more interrogatories, which 
were civilly answered, and then the subject was dropped. 
Well it has been said that “God made the country ; man 
made the town.” No one feels this more than he who has 
been shut up between walls of brick and stone for many 
months, on his first escape into the open, unfettered fields 
and winding pleasant roads. Thus was it now with Duns- 
comb. He had not been out of town since the previous 
summer, and great was his delight at smelling the fra- 
grance of the orchards, and feasting his eyes on their 
beauties. All the other charms of the season came in aid 
of these, and when the carriage drove into the long, broad, 
and we might almost say single street of Bi berry, Duns- 
comb in particular was in a most tranquil and pleasant 
state of mind. He had come out to assist a friendless 
woman, cheerfully and without a thought of the sacrifice, 
either as to time or money, though in reflecting on all the 
circumstances he began to have his doubts of the wisdom 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


4i 


of the step he had taken. Nevertheless, he preserved his 
native calmness of manner and coolness of head. 

Biberry was found to be in a state of high excitement. 
There were at least a dozen physicians collected there, all 
from the county, and five or six reporters had come from 
town. Rumors of all sorts were afloat, and Mary Monson 
was a name in every person’s mouth. She had not been 
arrested, however, it having been deemed premature for 
that ; but she was vigilantly watched, and tvro large trunks 
of which she was the mistress, as well as an oilskin-covered 
box of some size, if not absolutely seized, were so placed 
that their owner had no access to them. This state of 
things, however, did not seem to give the suspected girl 
any uneasiness ; she was content with what a carpet-bag 
contained, and with which she said she was comfortable. 
It was a question with the wiseacres whether she knew 
that she was suspected or not. 

Had Dunscomb yielded to McBrain’s solicitations, he 
would have gone at once to the house in which Mary 
Monson was now lodged, but he preferred adopting a dif- 
ferent course. He thought it the most prudent to be a 
looker-on, until after the next examination, which was now 
close at hand. Wary by long habit, and cool by tempera- 
ment, he was disposed to observe the state of things before 
he committed himself. The presence of the reporters an- 
noyed him ; not that he stood in any dread of the low tyr- 
anny that is so apt to characterize this class of men, for 
no member of the bar had held them, and the puny efforts 
of many among them to build up and take away profes- 
sional character,, in greater contempt than he had done ; 
but he disliked to have his name mixed up with a cause of 
this magnitude, unless he had made up his mind to go 
through with it. In this temper, then, no communication 
was held with Mary Monson, until they met, at the hour 
appointed for the inquest, in the court-house. 

The room was crowded, at least twice as many having 
collected on this occasion as held got together on the sud- 
den call of the previous examination. Dunscomb observed 
that the coroner looked grave, like a man who felt he had 
important business on his hands, while a stern expectation 
was the expression common to nearly all the others pres- 
ent. He was an utter stranger himself, even by sight, to 
every being present, his own party and two or three of the 
reporters excepted. These last no sooner observed him, 
however, than out came their little note-books, and the 


42 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


gold pens were fit work, scribbling something. It was 
probably a sentence to say, “We observed among the 
crowd Thomas Dunscomb, Esquire, the well-known coun- 
sel from the city ; ” but Dunscomb cared very little for such 
vulgarisms, and continued passive. 

As soon as the inquest was organized, the coroner di- 
rected a physician of the neighborhood to be put on the 
stand. It had gone forth that a “city doctor” had inti- 
mated that neither of the skeletons was that of Peter Good- 
win, and there was a common wish to confront him with 
a high country authority. It was while the medical man 
now in request was sent for, that McBrain pointed out 
to Dunscomb the person of Marv Monson. She sat in a 
corner different from that she had occupied the day before, 
seemingly for the same purpose, or that of being alone. 
Alone she was not, strictly, however ; a respectable-looking 
female, of middle age, being at her side. This was a Mrs. 
Jones, the wife of a clergyman, who had charitably offered 
the suspected young stranger a home under her own roof, 
pending the investigation. It was thought, generally, that 
Mary Monson had but very vague notions of the distrust 
that rested on her, it being a part of the plan of those who 
were exercising all their wits to detect the criminal, that 
she was first to learn this fact in open court, and under 
circumstances likely^ to elicit some proofs of guilt. When 
Dunscomb learned this artifice, he saw how ungenerous 
and unmanly it was, readily imagined a dozen signs of 
weakness that a female might exhibit in such a strait, that 
had no real connection with crime, and felt a strong dispo- 
sition to seek an interview, and put the suspected party on 
her guard. It was too late for this, however, just then ; 
and he contented himself, for the moment, with study- 
ing such signs of character and consciousness as his 
native sagacity and long experience enabled him to de- 
tect. 

Although nothing could be more simple or unpretending 
than the attire of Mary Monson, it was clearly that of a 
lady. Everything about her denoted that station, or origin ; 
though everything about her, as Dunscomb fancied, also 
denoted a desire to bring herself down, as nearly as possi- 
ble, to the level of those around her, most probably that 
she might not attract particular attention. Our lawyer did 
not exactly like this slight proof of management, and 
wished it were not so apparent. He could see the hands, 
feet, figure, hair, and general air of the female he was so 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


43 


strangely called on to make the subject of his investiga- 
tions, but he could not yet see her face. The last was 
again covered with a cambric handkerchief, the hand which 
held it being ungloved. It was a pretty little American 
hand ; white, well-proportioned, and delicate. It was clear 
that neither its proportions nor its color had been changed 
by uses unsuited to its owner’s sex or years. But it had 
no ring, in this age of bejewelled fingers. It was the left 
hand, moreover, and the fourth finger, like all the rest, had 
no ornament, or sign of matrimony. He inferred from this 
that the stranger was unmarried; one of the last things 
that a wife usually lays aside being her wedding-ring. The 
foot corresponded with the hand, and was decidedly the 
smallest, best-formed, and best-decorated foot in Biberry. 
John Wilmeter thought it the prettiest he had ever seen. 
It was not studiously exhibited, however, but rested nat- 
urally and gracefully in its proper place. The figure gen- 
erally, so far as a capacious shawl would allow of its being 
seen, was pleasing, graceful, and a little remarkable for 
accuracy of proportions, as well as of attire. 

Once or twice Mrs. Jones spoke to her companion ; and 
it was when answering some question thus put that Duns- 
comb first got a glimpse of his intended client’s face. The 
handkerchief was partly removed, and remained so long 
enough to enable him to make a few brief observations. 
It was then that he felt the perfect justice of his friend’s 
description. It was an indescribable countenance, in all 
things but its effect ; which was quite as marked on the 
lawyer, as it had been on the physician. But the arrival 
of Dr. Coe put an end to these observations, and drew all 
eyes on that individual, who was immediately sworn. The 
customary preliminary questions were put to this witness, 
respecting his profession, length of practice, residence, etc., 
when the examination turned more on the matter immedi- 
ately under investigation. 

“You see those objects on the table, doctor?” said the 
coroner. “ What do you say they are ? ” 

“ Ossa hpminuni : human bones, much defaced and charred 
by heat.” 

“ Do you find any proof about them of violence com- 
mitted, beyond the damage done by fire ? ” 

“ Certainly. There is the os frontis of each fractured by 
a blow ; a common blow, as I should judge.” 

“What do you mean, sir, by a common blow ? An acci- 
dental, or an intentional blow?” 


44 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ By common blow, I mean that one blow did the dam- 
age to both cranys 

“ Crany 2 — how do you spell that word, doctor ? Common 
folks get put out by foreign tongues.” 

“ Cranys, in the plural, sir. We say cran ium for one 
skull, and crany for two.” 

“ I wonder what he would say for numskull ? ” whispered 
John to Michael. 

“ Yes, sir ; I understand you, now. I trust the reporters 
will get it right.” 

“ Oh ! they never make any mistakes, especially in legal 
proceedings,” quietly remarked Mr. Dunscomb to the doc- 
tor. “ In matters of law and the constitution they are of 
proof ! Talk of letters on the constitution ! What are 
equal to those that come to us, hibernally , as one may say, 
from Washington ?” 

“ Hibernially would be the better word,” answered Mc- 
Brain, in the same undertone. 

“You ought to know ; your grandfather was an Irish- 
man, Ned. But listen to this examination.” 

“And now, Dr. Coe, have the goodness to look at these 
skeletons,” resumed the coroner, “and tell us whether they 
belong to man, woman, or child. Whether they are the 
remains of adults, or of children.” 

“ Of adults, certainly. On that point, sir, I conceive 
there can be no doubt.” 

“ And as to the sex ? ” 

“ I should think that is equally clear. I have no doubt 
that one are the remains of Peter Goodwin, and the other 
those of his wife. Science can distinguish between the 
sexes, in ordinary cases, I allow ; but this is a case in which 
science is at fault, for want of facts ; and taking all the 
known circumstances into consideration, I have no hesita- 
tion in saying that, according to my best judgment, those are 
the remains of the missing man and woman — man and wife.” 

“ Am I to understand .that you recognize the particular 
skeletons by any outward, visible proofs ? ” 

“Yes ; there is the stature. Both of the deceased were 
well known to me ; and I should say, that making the 
usual allowance for the absence of the mnsculi, the pellis, 
and other known substances ” 

“ Doctor, would it be just as agreeable to you to use the 
common dialect ? ” demanded a shrewd-looking farmer, one 
of the jury, who appeared equally amused and vexed at the 
display of learning. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


45 


“Certainly, sir— certainly, Mr. Blore ; musculi means 
muscles, and pellis is the skin. Abstract the muscles and 
skin, and the other intermediate substances, from the bones, 
and the apparent stature would be reduced, as a matter of 
course. Making those allowances, I see in those skeletons 
the remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin. Of the fact, 
I entertain no manner of doubt.” 

As Dr. Coe was very sincere in what he said, he ex- 
pressed himself somewhat earnestly. A great many eyes 
were turned triumphantly toward the stranger who had 
presumed to intimate that the bones of both the remains 
were those of women, when everybody in and about Bi- 
berry knew Peter Goodwin so well, and knew that his wife, 
if anything, was the taller of the two. No one in all that 
crowd doubted as to the fact, except McBrain and his 
friend ; and the last doubted altogether on the faith of the 
doctor’s science. He had never known him mistaken, 
though often examined in court, and was aware that the 
bar considered him one of the safest and surest witnesses 
they could employ in all cases of controverted facts. 

Dr. Coe’s examination proceeded. 

“ Have you a direct knowledge of any of the circum- 
stances connected with this fire ? ” demanded the coroner. 

“ A little, perhaps. I was called to visit a patient about 
midnight, and was obliged to pass directly before the door 
of Goodwin’s house. The jury knows that it stood on a 
retired road, and that one would not be. likely to meet 
with any person travelling it so early in the morning. I 
did pass, however, two men, who were walking very fast, 
and in the direction of Goodwin’s. I could not see their 
faces, nor did I know them by their figures and move- 
ments. As I see everybody, and know almost everybody, 
hereabouts, I concluded they were strangers. About four 
I was on my return along the same road, and as my sulky 
rose to the top of Windy Hill, I got a view of Goodwin’s 
house. The flames were just streaming out of the east end 
of the roof, and the little wing on that end of the building, 
in which the old folks slept, was in a bright blaze. The 
other end was not much injured ; and I saw at an upper 
window the figure of a female — she resembled, as well as I 
could judge by that light, and at that distance, the young 
lady now present, and who is said to have occupied the 
chamber'' under the roof, in the old house, for some time 
past ; though I can’t say I have ever seen her there, unless 
I saw her then, under the circumstances mentioned. The 


46 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


old people could not have been as ailing this spring, as was 
common with them, as I do not remember to have been 
stopped by them once. They never were in the habit of 
sending for the doctor, but seldom let me go past the door 
without calling me in.” 

“ Did you see any one besides the figure of the female at 
the window ? ” 

“Yes. There were two men beneath that window, and 
they appeared to me to be speaking to, or holding some 
sort of communication with the female. I saw gestures, 
and I saw one or two articles thrown out of the window. 
My view was only for a minute ; and when I reached the 
house a considerable crowd had collected, and I had no 
opportunity to observe, particularly in a scene of such con- 
fusion.” 

“Was the female still at the upper window when you 
reached the house? ” 

“ No. I saw the lady now present standing near the 
burning building, and held by a man — Peter Davidson,. I 
think it was — who told me she wanted to rush into the 
house to look for the old folks.” 

“ Did you see any efforts of that sort in her ? ” 

“ Certainly. She struggled to get away from Peter, and 
acted like a person who wished to rush into the burning 
building.” 

“Were the struggles natural — or might they not have 
been affected ? ” 

“They might. If it was acting, it was good acting. I 
have seen as good, however, in my life.” 

The doctor had a meaning manner that said more than 
his words. He spoke very low — so low as not to be au- 
dible to those who sat in the further parts of the room ; 
which will explain the perfect indifference to his testimony 
that was manifested by the subject of his remarks. An 
impression, however, was made on the jury, which was 
composed of men much disposed to push distrust to demon- 
stration. 

The coroner now thought it time to spring the principal 
mine, which had been carefully preparing during the 
recess in the investigation ; and he ordered “ Mary Mon- 
son ” to be called — a witness who had been regularly sum- 
moned to attend, among the crowd of persons that had 
received similar notices. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


47 


CHAPTER IV. 

My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 

The penalty and forfeit of my bond. — Shy lock. 

The eyes of Dunscomb were fastened intently on the 
female stranger, as she advanced to the place occupied by 
the witnesses. Her features denoted agitation, certainly ; 
but he saw no traces of guilt. It seemed so improbable, 
moreover, that a young woman of her years and appear- 
ance should be guilty of so dark an offence, and that for 
money, too, that all the chances were in favor of her inno- 
cence. Still, there were suspicious circumstances, out of 
all question, connected with hef situation, and he was too 
much experienced in the strange and unaccountable ways 
of crime, not to be slow to form his conclusions. 

The face of Mary Monson was now fully exposed ; it 
being customary to cause female witnesses to remove their 
hats, in order that the jurors may observe their counte- 
nances. And what a countenance it was ! Feminine, open, 
with scarce a trace of the ordinary passions about it, and 
illuminated from within, as we have already intimated. 
The girl might have been twenty, though she aftenvard 
stated her age to be a little more than twenty-one — per- 
haps, the most interesting period of a female’s existence. 
The features were not particularly regular, and an artist 
might have discovered various drawbacks on her beauty, 
if not positive defects ; but no earthly being could have 
quarrelled with the expression. That was a mixture of 
intelligence, softness, spirit, and feminine innocence, that 
did not fail to produce an impression on a crow T d which 
had almost settled down into a firm conviction of her guilt. 
Some even doubted, and most of those present thought it 
very strange. 

The reporters began to write, casting their eyes eagerly 
toward this witness ; and John Dunscomb, who sat near 
them, soon discovered that there were material discrepan- 
cies in their descriptions. These, however, were amicably 
settled by comparing notes ; and when the accounts of 
that day’s examination appeared in the journals of the 
time, they were sufficiently consistent with each other ; 
much more so, indeed, than with the truth in its severer 
aspects. There was no wish to mislead, probably ; but the 


48 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


whole system has the capital defect of making a trade of 
news. The history of passing events comes to us suffi- 
ciently clouded and obscured by the most vulgar and least 
praiseworthy of all our lesser infirmities, even when left to 
take what may be termed its natural course ; but, as soon 
as the money-getting principle is applied to it, facts be- 
come articles for the market, and go up and down, much 
as do other commodities, in the regular prices current. 

Mary Monson trembled a little when sworn ; Jsut she 
had evidently braced her nerves for the trial. Women are 
very capable of self-command, even in situations as foreign 
to their habits as this, if they have time to compose them- 
selves, and to come forward under the influence of resolu- 
tions deliberately formed. Such was probably the state of 
mind of this solitary and seemingly unfriended young 
woman ; for, though paid as death, she was apparently 
composed. We say unfriended — Mrs. Jones, herself, hav- 
ing given all her friends to understand that she had in- 
vited the stranger to her house under a sense of general 
duty, and not on account of any private or particular 
interest she felt in her affairs. She was as much a stranger 
to her, as to every one else in the village. 

“ Will you be so good as to tell us your name, place of 
ordinary residence, and usual occupation?” asked the 
coroner, in a dry, cold manner, though not until he had 
offered the witness a seat, in compliment to her sex. 

If the face of Mary Monson was pale the instant before, 
it now flushed to scarlet. The tint that appears in the 
August evening sky, when heat-lightning illuminates the 
horizon, is scarce more bright than that which chased the 
previous pallid hue from her cheeks. Dunscomb under- 
stood her dilemma, and interposed. She was equally un- 
willing to tell her real name, and to give a false one, under 
the solemn responsibility of an oath. There is, probably, 
less of deliberate, calculated false swearing, than of any 
other offence against justice; few having the nerve, or the 
moral obtuseness, that is necessary to perjury. We do not 
mean by this, that all which legal witnesses say is true, or 
the half of it ; for ignorance, dull imaginations working 
out solutions of half-comprehended propositions, and the 
strong propensity we ali feel to see things as we have ex- 
pected to find them, in a measure disqualifies fully half of 
those on whom the law has devolved a most important 
duty, to discharge it with due intelligence and impar- 
tiality. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


49 


“As a member of the bar, I interfere in behalf of the 
witness,” said Dunscomb, rising. “ She is evidently un- 
acquainted with her true position here, and consequently 
with her rights. Jack, get a glass of water for the young 
lady;” and never did Jack obey a request of his uncle 
with greater alacrity. “A witness cannot, with propriety, 
be treated as a criminal, or one suspected, without being 
apprised that the law xioes not require of those thus cir- 
cumstanced, answers affecting themselves.” 

Dunscomb had listened more to his feelings than to his 
legal knowledge, in offering this objection, inasmuch as no 
very searching question had, as yet, been put to Mary 
Monson. This the coroner saw, and he did not fail to let 
it be understood that he was aware of the weakness of the 
objection. 

“ Coroners are not governed by precisely the same rules 
as ordinary committing magistrates,” he quietly observed, 
“though we equally respect the rules of evidence. No 
witness is obliged to answer a question before an inquest, 
that will criminate himself, any more than at the Oyer and 
Terminer. If the lady will say she does not wish to tell 
her real name, because it may cri??iinate her , I shall not press 
the question myself, or allow it to be pressed by others.” 

“Very true, sir, but the law requires, in these prelimi- 
nary proceedings, no more than such accuracy as is con- 
venient in making out the records. I conceive that in this 
particular case the question might be varied by asking, 
‘You are known by the name of Mary Monson, I be- 
lieve ?’ ” 

“ What great harm can it be to this young female to give 
her real name, Mr. Dunscomb, as I understand you are 
that distinguished counsellor, if she be perfectly innocent 
of the death of the Goodwins?” 

“ A perfectly innocent person may have good reasons 
for wishing to conceal her name. These reasons obtain 
additional force w T hen we look around us, and see a com- 
mittee of reporters, who stand ready to transmit all that 
passes to the press ; but it might better serve the ends of 
justice to allow me to confer with the witness in private.” 

“With all my heart, sir. Take her into one of the jury 
rooms, and I will put another physician on the stand. 
When you are through with your consultation, Mr. Duns- 
comb, we shall be ready to proceed with your client.” 

Dunscomb offered his arm to the girl, and led her 
through the crowd, while a third medical man was sworn. 

4 


5 ° 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


This witness corroborated all of Dr. Coe’s opinions, treat- 
ing the supposition that both the skeletons were those of 
women with very little respect. It must be admitted that 
the suspected stranger lost a great deal of ground in the 
course of that half-hour. In the first place, the discussion 
about the name was received very much as an admission 
of guilt ; for Dunscomb’s argument that persons who were 
innocent might have many reasons for concealing their 
names, did not carry much weight with the good people of 
Biberry. Then any doubts which might have been raised 
by McBrain’s suggestion concerning the nature of the 
skeletons, were effectually removed by the corroborating 
testimony of Dr. Short, who so fully sustained Dr. Coe. 
So much are the Americans accustomed to refer the de- 
cision of nearly all questions to numbers, it scarcely exag- 
gerates the truth to say that, on the stand, the opinion of 
half a dozen country surveyors touching a problem in 
geometry would be very apt to overshadow that of a pro- 
fessor from West Point or old Yale. Majorities are the 
primum mobile of the common mind, and he who can get 
the greatest number on his side is very apt to be consid- 
ered right, and to reap the benefits of being so. 

A fourth and a fifth medical man were examined, and 
they concurred in the opinions of Dr. Coe and his neigh- 
bors. All gave it as the result of their inquiries, that they 
believed the two skulls had been broken with the same in- 
strument, and that the blow, if it did not cause immediate 
death, must have had the effect to destroy consciousness. 
As regards the sex, the answers were given in atone some- 
what supercilious. 

“ Science is a very good thing in its place,” observed 
one of these last witnesses; “but science is subject to 
known facts. We all know that Peter Goodwin and his 
wife lived in that house ; we all know that Dorothy Good- 
win was a large woman, and that Peter Goodwin was a 
small man — that they were about of a height, in fact — and 
that these skeletons very accurately represent their re- 
spective statures. We also know that the house is burned, 
that the old couple are missing, that these bones were 
found in a wing in which they slept, and that no other 
bones have been found there. Now, to my judgment, 
these facts carry as much weight, ay, even more weight, 
than any scientific reasoning in the premises. I conclude, 
therefore, that these are the remains of Peter and Dorothy 
Goodwin— -have no doubt that they are, indeed.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


5 1 


“Am I permitted to ask this witness a question, Mr. 
Coroner ?” demanded Dr. McBrain. 

“ With all my heart, sir. The jury wishes to ascertain 
all they can, and our sole object is justice. Our inquests 
are not very rigid as to forms, and you are welcome to ex- 
amine the witness as much as you please.” 

“You knew Goodwin ?” asked McBrain, directly of the 
witness. 

“ I did, sir ; quite well.” 

“ Had he all his teeth, as you remember?” 

“ I think he had.” 

“On the supposition that his front upper teeth were all 
gone, and that the skeleton you suppose to be his had all 
the front upper teeth, would you still regard the facts you 
have mentioned as better, or even as good proof, as the 
evidence of science, which tells us that the man who has 
lost his teeth cannot possess them ? ” 

“I scarcely call that a scientific fact, at all, sir. Any 
one may judge of that circumstance, as well as a physician. 
If it were as you say, I should consider the presence of the 
teeth pretty good proof that the skeleton was that of some 
other person, unless the teeth were the work of a dentist.” 

“ Then why not put any other equally $ure anatomical 
fact in opposition to what is generally supposed, in connec- 
tion with the wing, the presence of the men, and all the. 
other circumstances you have mentioned ? ” 

“ If there were any other sure anatomical fact, so I 
would. But in the condition in which those remains are, 
I do not think the best anatomist could say that he can 
distinguish whether they belonged to a rfian or to a wo- 
man.” 

“ I confess that the case has its difficulties,” McBrain 
quietly answered. “Still, I incline to my first opinion. I 
trust, Mr. Coroner, that the skeletons will be carefully 
preserved, so long as there may be any reason to continue 
these legal inquiries ? ” 

“ Certainly, sir. A box is made for that purpose, and 
they will be carefully deposited in it as soon as the inquest 
adjourns for the day. It is no unusual thing, gentlemen, 
for doctors to disagree.” 

. This was said with a smile, and had the effect to keep 
the peace. McBrain, however, had all the modesty of 
knowledge, and was never disposed to show off his superior 
attainments in the faces of those who might be supposed 
to know less than himself. Nor was he by any means cer- 


5 2 


THE VS AYS OF TTIE HOUR. 


tain of his fact ; though greatly inclined to believe that 
both the skeletons were those of females. The heat had 
been so powerful as to derange in, some measure, if not 
entirely to deface, his proofs ; and he was not a man to 
press a fact, in a case of this magnitude, without sufficient 
justification. All he now wanted, was to reserve a point 
that might have a material influence hereafter, in coming 
to a correct conclusion. 

It was fully an hour before Dunscomb returned, bring- 
ing Mary Monson on his arm. John followed the latter 
closely, for, though not admitted tp the room in which this 
long private conference had been held, he had not ceased 
to pace the gallery in front of its door during the whole 
time. Dunscomb looked very grave, and, as McBrain 
thought, he was very expert in interpreting the language 
of his friend’s countenance, disappointed. The girl her- 
self had evidently been weeping, and that violently. There 
was a paleness of the face, and a tremor in the frame, too, 
that caused the observant physician to suppose that, for the 
first time, she had been made to comprehend that she was 
the object of such dire distrust. No sooner were the two 
in their old seats, than the coroner prepared to renew the 
suspended examination. 

“ Witness,” repeated that functionary with marked for- 
mality, “what is your name ?” 

The answer was given in a tremulous voice, but with 
sufficient readiness, as if previously prepared. 

“I am known, in and around Biberry, by the name of 
Mary Monson.” . 

The coroner paused, passed a hand over his brow, mused 
a moment, and abandoned a half-formed determination he 
had made, to push this particular inquiry as far as he 
could. To state the truth, he was a little afraid of Mr. 
Thomas Dunscomb, whose reputation at the bar was of too 
high a character to have escaped his notice. On the whole, 
therefore, he decided to accept the name of Mary Monson, 
reserving the right of the State to inquire further, here- 
after. 

“ Where do you reside ? ” 

“ At present, in this place— lately, in the family of Peter 
Goodwin, whose remains are supposed to be in this room.” 

“ How long had you resided in that family ? ” 

“ Nine weeks, to a day. I arrived in the morning, and 
the fire occurred at night.” 

“ Relate all that you know concerning that fire, if you 


THE WA YS OF THE FI OUR. 


53 


please, miss — I call you miss, supposing you to be unmar- 
ried ? ” 

Mary Monson merely made a slight inclination of her 
head, as one acknowledges that a remark is heard and un- 
derstood. This did not more than half satisfy the coroner, 
his wife, for reasons of her own, having particularly de- 
sired him to ask the “ Monson girl ” when she was put on 
the stand whether she was or was not married. But it was 
too late just then to ascertain this interesting fact, and the 
examination proceeded. 

“ Relate all that you know concerning the fire, if you 
please, ma’am.” 

“ I know very little. I was awakened by a bright light 
— arose, and dressed myself as well as I could, and was 
abdut to descend the stairs, when I found I was too late. I 
then went to a window, and intended to throw my bed out, 
and let myself down on it, when two men appeared, and 
raised a ladder by wdiich I got safely out.” 

V Were any of your effects saved ? ” 

“ All, I believe. The same two persons entered my 
room, and passed my trunks, box, and carpet-bag, writing- 
desk, and other articles, out of the- room, as w’ell as most 
of its furniture. It was the part of the building last on 
fire, and it was safe entering the room I occupied, for near 
half an hour after I escaped.” 

“ How long had you known the Goodwins ? ” 

“ From the time when I first came to live in their 
house.” 

“ Did you pass the evening of the night of the fire in 
their company ? ” 

“ I did not. Very little of my time w r as passed in their 
company, unless it was at meals.” 

This answer caused a little stir among the audience, of 
whom much the larger portion thought it contained an ad- 
mission to be noted. Why should not a young woman 
who lived in a house so much apart from a general neigh- 
borhood, not pass most of her time in the company of 
those with whom she dwelt ? “ If they v'ere good enough 

to live with, I should think they might be good enough to 
associate with,” whispered one of the most active female 
talkers of Biberry, but in a tone so loud as to be heard by 
all near her. 

This was merely yielding to a national and increasing 
susceptibility to personal claims ; it being commonly 
thought aristocratic to refuse to associate with everybody, 


54 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR c 


when the person subject to remark has any apparent ad- 
vantages to render such association desirable. All others 
may do as they please. 

“ You did not, then, make one of the family regularly, 
but were there for some particular purpose of your own ?” 
resumed the coroner. 

“ I think, sir, on reflection, that you will see this exam- 
ination is taking a very irregular course,” interposed Duns- 
comb. “ It is more like an investigation for a commitment, 
than an inquest.” 

“ The law allows the freest modes of inquiry in all such 
cases, Mr. Dunscomb. Recollect, sir, there have been ar- 
son and murder — two of the highest crimes known to the 
books.” 

“ I do not forget it ; and recognize not only ail your 
rights, sir, but your duties. Nevertheless, this young lady 
has rights, too, and is to be treated distinctly in one of two 
characters ; as a witness, or as a party accused. If in the 
latter, I shall at once advise her to answer no more ques- 
tions in this state of the case. My duty, as her counsel, 
requires me to say as much.” 

“ She has, then, regularly retained you, Mr. Dunscomb ?” 
the coroner asked, with interest. 

“ That, sir, is a matter between her and myself. I ap- 
pear here as counsel, and shall claim the rights of one. I 
know that you can carry on this inquest without my inter- 
ference, if you see fit ; but no one can exclude the citizen 
from the benefit of advice. Even the new code, as extrav- 
agant and high-flyingin invention as ever came from the 
misguided ingenuity of man, will allow of this.” 

“There is no wish, Mr. Dunscomb, to put any obstacles 
in your way. Let every man do his whole duty. Your 
client can certainly refuse to answer any questions she 
may please, on the ground that the answer may tend to 
criminate herself ; and so may any one else.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir ; the law is still more indulgent 
in these preliminary proceedings. A party who knows 
himself to be suspected, has a right to evade questions 
that may militate against his interests ; else would the 
boasted protection which the law so far throws around 
every one, that he need not be his own accuser, become a 
mere pretence.” 

“ I shall endeavor to put my questions in such a way as 
togive # her the benefits of all her rights. Miss Monson, it 
is said that you have been seen, since the fire, to have some 


THE W A YS OF THE HOUR. 


55 


gold in your possession ; have you any objection to let that 
gold be seen by the jury ?” 

“None in the world, sir. I have a few gold pieces — 
here they are, in my purse. They do not amount to 
much, either in numbers or value. You are at liberty to 
examine them as much as you please.” 

Dunscomb had betrayed a little uneasiness at this ques- 
tion ; but the calm, steady manner in which the young 
woman answered, and the coolness with which she put 
her purse into the coroner’s hand, reassured, or rather 
surprised him. He remained silent, therefore, interpos- 
ing no objection to the examination. 

“ Here are seven half eagles, two quarter-eagles, and a 
strange coin that I do not remember ever to have seen be- 
fore,” said the coroner. “ What do you call this piece, 
Mr. Dunscomb?” 

“ I cannot tell you, sir ; I do not remember ever to 
have seen the coin before, myself.” 

“ It is an Italian coin, of the value of about twenty dol- 
lars, they tell me,” answered Mary, quietly. “ I think it 
is called after the reigning sovereign, whoever he may be. 
I got it, in exchange for some of our own money, from an 
emigrant from Europe, and kept it as a thing a little out 
of the common way.” 

The simplicity, distinctness, not to say nerve, with 
which this was said, placed Dunscomb still more at his 
ease, and lie now freely let the inquiry take its course. 
All this did not prevent his being astonished that one so 
young, and seemingly so friendless, should manifest so 
much coolness and self-possession, under circumstances 
so very trying. Such was the fact, however ; and he was 
fain to await further developments, in order better to 
comprehend the character of his client. 

“ Is Mrs. Pope present?” inquired the coroner. “The 
lady who told us yesterday she had seen the specie of the 
late Mrs. Goodwin, during the lifetime of the latter?” 

It was almost superfluous to ask if any particular person 
were present, as nearly all Biberry were in, or about, the 
court-house. Up started the widow, therefore, at this ap- 
peal, and coming forward with alacrity, she was imme- 
diately sworn, which she had not been the previous day, 
and went on the stand as a regular witness. 

“Your name?” observed the coroner. 

“Abigail Pope — folks write ‘relict of John Pope, de- 
ceased,’ in all my law papers.” 


5 6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Very well, Mrs. Pope ; the simple name will suffice 
for the present purposes. Do you reside in this neigh- 
borhood ?” 

“ In Biberry. I was born, brought up, married, be- 
came a widow, and still dwell, all within half-a-mile of this 
spot. My maiden name was Dickson.” 

Absurd and forward as these answers may seem to most 
persons, they had an effect on the investigation that was 
then going on in Biberry. Most of the audience saw, 
and felt, the difference between the frank statements of 
the present witness, and the reserve manifested by the 
last. 

“ Now why couldn’t that Mary Monson answer all these 
questions, just as well as Abigail Pope ?” said one female 
talker to a knot of listeners. “She has a glib enough 
tongue in her head, if she only sees fit to use it ! I’ll en- 
gage no one can answer more readily, when she wishes to 
let a thing out. There’s a dreadful history behind the 
curtain, in my judgment, about that same young woman, 
could a body only get at it.” 

“Mr. Sanford will get at it, before he has done with 
her, I'll engage,” answered a friend. “ I have heard it 
said he is the most investigating coroner in the State, when 
he sets about a case in good earnest. He’ll be very apt 
to make the most of this, for we never have had anything 
one-half so exciting in Biberry as these murders ! I have 
long thought we were rather out of the way of the rest of 
the world until now ; but our time has come, and we 
sha’n’t very soon hear the last of it ! ” 

“It’s all in the papers already!” exclaimed a third. 
“ Biberry looks as grand as York, or Albany, in the col- 
umns of every paper from town this morning! I declare it 
did me good to see our little place holding up its head 
among the great of the earth, as it might be ” 

What else, in the way of local patriotism, may have es- 
caped this individual cannot now be known, the coroner 
drawing off her auditors, by the question next put to the 
widow. 

“ Did you ever see any gold coins in the possession of 
the late Mrs. Goodwin ?” asked that functionary. 

“Several times — I don’t know but I might say often. 
Five or six times at least. I used to sew for the old lady, 
and you know how it is when a body works, in that way, 
in a family — it’s next thing, I do suppose, to being a doc- 
tor, so far as secrets .go.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


57 


“Should you know any of that corn were you to see it 
again, Mrs. Pope?” 

“ I think I might. There’s one piece, in particular; that 
I suppose I should know anywhere. It’s a wonderful 
looking piece of money, and true Californy, I conclude.” 

“ Did any of Mrs. Goodwin’s gold coins bear a resem- 
blance to this?” showing a half-eagle. 

“ Yes, sir — that’s a five-dollar piece — I’ve had one of 
them myself in the course of my life.” 

“Mrs. Goodwin had coins similar to this, I then under- 
stand you to say ? ” 

“ She had as many as fifty, I should think. Altogether 
she told me she had as much as four hundred dollars in 
that stocking ! I remember the sum, for it sounded like a 
great deal for anybody to have who wasn’t a bank like. 
It quite put me in mind of the place ers .” 

“Was there any coin like this?” showing the widow 
the Italian piece. 

“ That’s the piece 1 I’d know it among a thousand ! I 
had it in my hands as much as five minutes, trying to read 
the Latin on it, and make it out into English. All the 
rest was American gold, the old lady told me ; but this 
piece she said was foreign.” 

This statement produced a great sensation in the court- 
room. Although Mrs. Pope was flippant, a gossip, and a 
little notorious for meddling with her neighbors’ concerns, 
no one suspected her of fabricating such a story, under 
oath. The piece of gold passed from juror to juror ; and 
each man among them felt satisfied that he would know 
the coin again, after an interval of a few weeks. Duns- 
comb probably put less faith in this bit of testimony, than 
any other person present ; and he was curious to note its 
effect on his client. To his great surprise she betrayed 
no uneasiness ; her countenance maintaining a calm that 
he now began to apprehend denoted a practised art ; and 
he manifested a desire to examine the piece of gold for 
himself. It was put in his hand, and he glanced at its 
face a little eagerly. It was an unusual coin ; but it had 
no defect or mark that might enable one to distinguish be- 
tween it and any other piece of a similar impression. The 
coroner interpreted the meaning of his eye, and suspended 
the examination of the widow, to question Mary Monson 
herself. 

“ Your client sees the state of the question, Mr. Duns- 
comb,” he said ; “and you will look to her rights. Mine 


58 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 

authorize me, as I understand them, to inquire of her 
concerning a few facts in relation to this piece of money.” 

“I will answer your questions, sir, without any hesita- 
tion,” the accused replied, with a degree of steadiness that 
Dunscomb deemed astonishing. 

“ How long has this piece of gold been in your posses- 
sion, if you please, miss?” 

“About a twelvemonth. I began to collect the gold I 
have, very nearly a year since.” 

“ Has it been in your possession, uninterruptedly, all 
that time.” 

“ So far as I know, sir, it has. A* portion of the time, 
and a large portion of it, it has not been kept in my purse ; 
but I should think no one could have meddled with it, when 
it has been elsewhere.” 

“ Have you anything to remark on the testimony just 
given ? ” 

“ It is strictly true. Poor Mrs. Goodwin certainly had 
the store of gold mentioned by Mrst Pope, for she once 
showed it to me. I rather think she was fond of such 
things ; and had a pleasure in counting her hoards, and 
showing them to other persons. I looked over her coins ; 
and finding she was fond of those that are a little uncom- 
mon, I gave her one or two of those that I happened to 
own. No doubt, Mrs. Pope saw the counterpart of this 
piece, but surely not the piece itself.” 

“ I understand you to say, then, that Mrs. Goodwin had 
a gold coin similar to this, which gold coin came from 
yourself. What did Mrs. Goodwin allow you in the ex- 
change ? ” . 

“ Sir ? ” 

“ How much did you estimate the value of that Italian 
piece at, and in what money did Mrs. Goodwin pay you 
for it ? It is necessary to be particular in these cases.” 

“ She returned me nothing for the coin, sir. It was a 
present from me to her, and of course not to be paid 
for.” 

This answer met with but little favor. It did not ap- 
pear to the people of Biberry at all probable that an un- 
known, and seemingly friendless young woman, who had 
been content to dwell two months in the “garret-room ” 
of the “old Goodwin house,” faring none of the best, cer- 
tainly, and neglecting so many superior tenements and 
tables that were to be met with on every side of her, 
would be very likely to give away a piece of gold of that 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


59 


unusual size. It is true, we are living in a marvellous age, 
so far as this metal is concerned ; but the Californian gold 
had not then arrived in any great quantity, and the people 
of the country are little accustomed to see anything but 
silver and paper, which causes them to attach an unwonted 
value to the more precious metal. Even the coroner took 
this view of the matter; and Dunscomb saw that the ex- 
planation just made by his client was thought to prove 
too much. 

“ Are you in the habit, miss, of giving away pieces of 
gold ? ” asked one of the jurors. 

“ That question is improper,” interposed Mr. Dunscomb. 
“No one can have a right to put it.” 

The coroner sustained this objection, and no answer Was 
given. As Mrs. Pope had suggested that others, besides 
herself, had seen Mrs. Goodwin's stocking, four more wit- 
nesses were examined to this one point. They were all 
females, who had been admitted by the deceased, in the 
indulgence of her passion, to feast their eyes with a sight 
of her treasure. Only one, however, of these four pro- 
fessed to have any recollection of the particular coin that 
had now become, as it might be, the pivoting point in the 
inquiry ; and her recollections were by no means as clear 
as those of the widow. She thought she had seen such a 
piece; of gold in Mrs. Goodwin’s possession, though she 
admitted she was not allowed to touch any of the money, 
which was merely held up, piece by piece, before her ad- 
miring eyes, in the hands of its proper owner. It was in 
this state of the inquiry that Dunscomb remarked to the 
coroner, “ that it was not at all surprising a woman who 
was so fond of exposing her treasure should be robbed 
and murdered!” This remark, however, failed of its in- 
tended effect, in consequence of the manner in which sus- 
picion had become riveted, as it might be, through the 
testimony of Mrs. Pope, on the stranger who had so mys- 
teriously come to lodge with the Goodwins. The general 
impression now appeared to be that the whole matter had 
been previously arranged, and that the stranger had come 
to dwell in the house expressly to obtain facilities for the 
commission of the crime. 

A witness who was related to the deceased, who was ab- 
sent from home, but had been told, by means of the wires, 
to return, and who had intimated an intention to comply, 
was still wanting; and the inquest was again adjourned 
for an hour, in order to allow of the arrival of a stage from 


Go 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


town. During this interval, Dunscomb ascertained how 
strongly the current was setting against his client. A hun- 
dred little circumstances were cited, in confirmation of 
suspicions that had now gained a firm footing, and which 
were so nearly general as to include almost every person 
of any consequence in the place. What appeared strangest 
to Dunscomb was the composure of the young girl who 
was so likely to be formally accused of crimes so heinous. 
He had told her of the nature of the distrust that was at- 
tached to her situation, and she received his statement 
with a degree of emotion that, at first, had alarmed him. 
But an unaccountable calmness soon succeeded this burst 
of feeling, and lie had found it necessary to draw confi- 
dence in the innocence of his client from that strangely 
illuminated countenance, to study which was almost certain 
to subdue a man by its power. While thus gazing at the 
stranger, he could not believe her guilty ; but, while re- 
flecting on all the facts of the case, he saw T how difficult 
it might be to persuade others to entertain the same 
opinion. Nor were there circumstances wanting to shake 
his own faith in expression, sex, years, and all the other 
probabilities. Mary Monson had declined entering at all 
into any account of her previous life ; evaded giving her 
real name even to him ; carefully abstained from all allu- 
sions that might furnish any clew to her former place 
of abode, or to any fact that would tend to betray her 
secret. 

At the appointed hour the stage arrived, bringing the 
expected witness. His testimony went merely to corrobo- 
rate the accounts concerning the little hoard of gold that 
his kinswoman had undeniably possessed, and to the cir- 
cumstance that she always kept it in a particular drawer 
of her bureau. The bureau had been saved, for it did not 
stand in the sleeping-room of the deceased, but had formed 
a principal embellishment of her little parlor, and the 
money was not in it. What was more, each drawer was 
carefully locked, but no keys were to be found. As these 
were articles not likely to be melted under any heat to 
which they might have been exposed, a careful but fruit- 
less search had been made for them among the ruins. 
They were nowhere to be seen. 

About nine o’clock in the evening, the jury brought in 
the result of their inquest. It was a verdict of murder in 
the. first degree, committed, in the opinion of the jurors, 
by a female who was known by the name of Mary Monson. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


61 


With the accusation of arson, the coroner’s inquest, as a 
matter of course, had no connection. A writ was immedi- 
ately issued, and the accused arrested. 


CHAPTER V. 

“ It was the English,” Kasper cried, 

“ Who put the French to rout; 

But what they killed eacli other for, 

I could not well make out. 

But everybody said,” quoth he, 

“That ’twas a famous victory.” — Southey. 

The following day, after an early breakfast, Dunscomb 
and his friend the doctor were on their way back to town. 
The former had clients and courts, and the latter patients, 
who were not to be neglected, to say nothing of the claims 
of Sarah and Mrs. Updyke. John and Michael remained 
at Biberry ; the first being detained there by divers com- 
missions connected with the comforts and treatment of 
Mary Monson, but still more by his own inclinations ; and 
the last remaining, somewhat against his wishes, as a com- 
panion to the brother of her who so strongly drew him 
back to New York. 

As the commitment was for offences so serious, crimes 
as grave as any known to the law, bail would not have been 
accepted, could any have been found. We ought not to 
speak with too much confidence, however, on this last 
point ; for Dr. McBrain, a man of very handsome estate, 
the result of a liberal profession steadily and intelligently 
pursued, was more than half disposed to offer himself for 
one of the sureties, and to go and find a second among his 
friends. Nothing, indeed, prevented his doing so, but 
Dunscomb’s repeated assurances that no bondsmen would 
be received. Even charming young women, when they 
stand charged with murder and arson, must submit to be 
incarcerated, until their innocence is established in due 
form of law ; or, what is the same thing,, in effect, until 
the caprice, impulses, ignorance, or corruption of a jury 
acquits them. 

The friends did not entirely agree in their manner of 
viewing this affair. The doctor was firmly impressed with 
the conviction of Mary Monson’s innocence, while Duns- 
comb, more experienced in the ways of crime and the in- 


62 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


firmities of the human heart, had his misgivings. So many 
grounds of suspicion had occurred, or been laid open to 
his observation, during the hour of private communication, 
that it was not easy for one who had seen so much of the 
worst side of human nature, to cast them off under the 
mere influence of a graceful form, winning manner, and 
bright countenance. Then, the secondary facts, well estab- 
lished, and, in one important particular, admitted by the 
party accused, were not of a character to be overlooked. 
It often happens, and Dunscomb well knew it, that inno- 
cence appears under a repulsive exterior, while guilt con- 
ceals itself in forms and aspects so fair, as to deceive all 
but the wary and experienced. 

“ I hope that the comfort of Miss Monson has been prop- 
perly attended to, since she must be confined for a few 
days,” said McBrain, while he took a last look at the little 
jail, as the carriage passed the brow of the hill. “Justice 
can ask no more than security.” 

“It is a blot on the character of the times, and on this 
country in particular,” answered Dunscomb, coldly, “that 
so little attention is paid to the jails. We are crammed 
with false philanthropy in connection with convicted 
rogues, who ought to be made to feel the penalties of 
their offences ; while we are not even just in regard to 
those who are only accused, many of whom are really in- 
nocent. Bu]: for my interference, this delicate and friend- 
less girl would, in all probability, have been immured in a 
common dungeon.” 

“ What ! before her guilt is established ? ” 

“ Relatively, her treatment after conviction would be 
far more humane than previously to that event. Comfort- 
able, well-furnished, but secure apartments ought to be 
provided for the accused in every county in the State, as 
acts of simple justice, before another word of mawkish 
humanity is uttered on the subject of the treatment of 
recognized criminals. It is wonderful what a disposition 
there is among men to run into octaves, in everything they 
do, forgetting that your true melody is to be found only 
in the simpler and more natural notes. There is as much 
of the falsetto nowadays in philanthropy as in music.” 

“And this poor girl is thrust -into a dungeon ? ” 

“No ; it is not quite as bad as that. The jail has one 
decent apartment, that was fitted up for the comfort of a 
prize-fighter, who was confined in it not long since ; and as 
the room is sufficiently secure, I have persuaded the jailer’s 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


63 


wife to put Mary Monson in it. Apart from loss of air 
and exercise, and the happiness of knowing herself re- 
spected and beloved, the girl will not be very badly off 
there. . I dare say, the room is quite as good as that she 
occupied under the roof of those unfortunate Goodwins,” 

“ How strange that a female of her appearance should 
have been the inmate of such a place ! She does not seem 
to want money, either. You saw the gold she had in her 
purse ? ” 

“Ay; it were better had that gold not been there, or 
not seen. I sincerely wish it had been nothing but silver.” 

“You surely do not agree with that silly woman, the 
Widow Pope, as they call her, in believing that she has got 
the money of those persons who have been murdered?” 

“ On that subject, I choose to suspend my opinion — I 
may, or I may not, as matters shall turn up. She has 
money ; and in sufficient quantity to buy herself out of 
jeopardy. At least, she offered me a fee of a hundred dol- 
lars, in good city paper.” 

“Which you did not take, Tom ?” 

“ Why not ? It is my trade, and I live by it. Why not 
take her fee, if you please, sir? Does the Widow Updyke 
teach you such doctrines? Will you drive about town for 
nothing? Why not take her fee, Master Ned ?? 

“ Why not, sure enough ! That girl has bewitched me, 
I believe ; and that is the solution.” 

“ I tell you what, Ned, unless there is a stop put to this 
folly, I’ll make Mrs. Updyke acquainted with the whole 
matter, and put an end to nuptials No. 3. Jack is head and 
ears in love, already ; and here you are flying off at a tan- 
gent from all your engagements and professions, to fall at 
the feet of an unknown girl of twenty, who appears be- 
fore you, on a first interview, in the amiable light of one 
accused of the highest crimes.” 

“And of which I no more believe her guilty than I be- 
lieve you to be guilty of them.” 

“Uinph! ‘Time will show;’ which is the English, I 
suppose, of the ‘ nous verrons ’ that is flying about in the 
newspapers. Yes, she has money to buy three or four 
journals, to get up a ‘sympathy’ in her behalf, when her 
acquittal would be almost certain, if her trial were not a 
legal impossibility. I am not sure it is not her safest 
course, in the actual state of the facts.” 

“Would you think, Dunscomb, of advising any one who 
looked up to you for counsel, to take such a course?” 


6 4 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“Certainly not— and you know it, well enough, Me- 
Brain ; but that does not lessen, or increase, the chances of 
the expedient. The journals have greatly weakened their 
own power, by the manner in which they have abused it ; 
but enough still remains to hoodwink, not to say to over- 
shadow, justice. The law is very explicit and farsighted as 
to the consequences of allowing any one to influence the 
public mind in matters of its own adminstration ; but in a 
country like this, in which the virtue and intelligence of the 
people are said to be the primum mobile in everything, there 
is no one to enforce the ordinances that the wisdom of our 
ancestors has bequeathed to us. Any editor of a news- 
paper who publishes a sentence reflecting on the character 
or rights of a party to a pending suit, is guilty at common 
law, of what the books call a ‘ libel on the courts of justice,’ 
and can be punished for it, as for any other misdemeanor ; 
yet, you can see for yourself, how little such a provision, 
healthful and most wise-may, essential as it is to justice— 
is looked down by the mania which exists of putting every- 
thing into print. When one remembers that very little of 
what he reads is true, it is fearful to reflect that a system 
of which the whole merit depends on its power to extract 
facts, and to do justice on their warranty, should be com- 
pletely overshadowed by another contrivance which, when 
stripped of its pretension, and regarded in its real colors, 
is nothing more than one of the ten thousand schemes to 
make money that surrounds us, with a little higher preten- 
sion than common to virtue.” 

“ ‘ Completely overshadowed ’ are strong words, Duns- 
comb ! ” 

“Perhaps they are, and they may need a little qualify- 
ing. Overshadowed often— much too often, however, is 
not a particle stronger than I am justified in using. Every 
one, who thinks at all, sees and feels the truth of this ; but 
here is the weak side of a popular government. The laws 
are enforced by means of public virtue, and public virtue, 
like private virtue, is very frail. We all are willing enough 
to admit the last, as regards our neighbors at least, while 
there seems to exist, in most minds, a species of idolatrous 
veneration for the common sentiment, as sheer a quality 
of straw, as any image of a lover drawn by the most heated 
imagination of sixteen.” 

“You surely do not disregard public opinion, Tom, or 
set it down as unworthy of all respect!” 

“By no means ; if you mean that opinion which is the 


THE WAYS OF THE II OCR. 




result of deliberate judgment, and has a direct connection 
with our religion, morals, and manners. That is a public 
opinion to which we all ought to defer, when it is fairly 
made up, and has been distinctly and independently pro- 
nounced ; most especially when it comes from high quar- 
ters, and not from low. But the country is full of simu- 
lated public opinion, in the first place, and it is not always 
easy to tell the false from the true. Yes, the country is 
full of what I shall call an artificial public opinion, that has 
been got up to effect a purpose, and to that no wise man 
will defer, if he can help it. Now look at our scheme of 
administering justice. Twelve men taken out of the 
bosom of the community, by a species of lottery, are set 
apart to pronounce on your fortune, or mine — nay, to ut- 
ter the fearful words of ‘guilty,’ or ‘not guilty.’ All the 
accessories of this plan, as they exist here, make against 
its success. In the first place, the jurors are paid, and that 
just enough to induce the humblest on the list to serve, 
and not enough to induce the educated and intelligent. It 
is a day-laborer’s wages, and the day-laborer will be most 
likely to profit by it. Men who are content to toil for 
seventy-five cents a day are very willing to serve on juries 
for a dollar ; while those whose qualifications enable them 
to obtain enough to pay their fines, disregard the penalty, 
and stay away.” 

“ Why is not an evil as flagrant as this remedied ? I 
should think the whole bar would protest against it.” 

“With what result? Who cares for the bar? Legisla- 
tors alone can change this system, and men very different 
from those who are now sent must go to the legislature, 
before one is found, honest enough, or bold enough, to get 
up and tell the people they are not all fit to be trusted. No, 
no ; this is not the way of the hour. We have a cycle in 
opinion to make, and it may be that when the round is fairly 
made, men may come back to tiieir senses, and perceive 
the necessity of fencing in justice by some of the useful 
provisions that we are now so liberally throwing away. 
To tell you the truth, Ned, the State is submitting to the 
influence of two of the silliest motives that can govern men 
. — ultra conservatism, and ultra progress ; the one holding 
back, often, to preserve that which is not worth keeping ; 
and the other ‘ goingahead,’ as it is termed, merely for the 
sake of boasting of their onward tendencies. Neither 
course is in the least suited to the actual wants of society, 
and each is pernicious in its way.” 

5 


66 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ It is thought, however, that when opinion thus strug- 
gles with opinion, a healthful compromise is made, in 
which society finds its advantage.” 

“The cant of mediocrity, depend on it, Ned. In the 
first place, there is no compromise about it ; one side or 
the other gains the victory ; and as success is sustained by 
numbers, the conquerors push their advantages to the 
utmost. They think of their own grosser interests, their 
passions and prejudices, rather than of any ‘ healthful 
compromise,’ as you term it. What compromise is there 
in this infernal code ? ” Dunscomb was an ultra himself, 
in opposition to a system that has a good' deal of that 
which is useful, diluted by more that is not quite so good 
— “or what in. this matter of the election of judges by the 
people ? As respects the last, for instance, had the tenure 
of office been made ‘good behavior,’ there would have 
been something like a compromise ; but no — the conquer- 
ors took all ; and what is worse, the conquerors were 
actually a minority of the voters, so easy is it to cow even 
numbers by political chicanery. In this respect, de- 
mocracy is no more infallible than any other form of gov- 
ernment.” 

“ I confess, I do not see how this is shown, since the 
polls were free to every citizen.” 

“The result fairly proves it. Less than half of the 
known number of the electors voted for the change. 
Now it is absurd to suppose that men who really and 
affirmatively wished a new constitution would stay away 
from the polls.” 

“ More so than to suppose that they who did not wish it 
would stay away, too ? ” 

“ More so, and for this reason. Thousands fancied it 
useless to stem the current of what they fancied a popular 
movement, and were passive in the matter. Any man, of 
an extensive acquaintance, may easily count a hundred 
such idlers. Then a good many stood on their legal 
rights, and refused to vote, because the manner of pro- 
ducing the change was a palpable violation of a previous 
contract ; the old constitution pointing out the manner in 
which the instrument could be altered, which was not the 
mode adopted. Then tens of thousands voted for the new 
constitution, who did not know anything about it. They 
loved change, and voted for change’s sake ; and, possibly, 
with some vague notion that they were to be benefited by 
making the institutions as popular as possible.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


67 


“ And is not this the truth ? Will not the mass be 
all the better off by exercising as much power as they 
can ? ” 

“ No ; and for the simple reason that masses cannot, in 
the nature of things, exercise more than a very limited 
power. You, yourself, for instance, one of the mass, can- 
not exercise this very power of choosing a judge, as it 
ought to be exercised, and of course are liable to do more 
harm than good.” 

“ The deuce I cannot ! Why is not my vote as good as 
your own ? or that of any other man ? ” 

“ For the simple reason that you are ignorant of the 
whole matter. Ask yourself the question, and answer it 
like an honest man ; would you — could you, with the 
knowledge you possess, lay your finger on any man in this 
community, and say, ‘ I make you a judge ? ’ ” 

“Yes ; my finger would be laid on you, in a minute.” 

“Ah, Ned, that will do, as a friend ; but how would it 
do as a judicious selection of a judge you do not know? 
You are ignorant of the law, and must necessarily be 
ignorant of the qualifications of any particular person to 
be an interpreter of it. What is true of you, is equally 
true of a vast majority of those who are now the electors 
of our judges.” 

“ I am not a little surprised, Tom, to hear you talk in 
this way ; for you profess to be a democrat ! ” 

“ To the extent of giving the people all power, in the 
last resort — all power that they can intelligently and use- 
fully use ; but not to the extent of permitting them to 
make the laws, and to execute the laws, and to interpret 
the laws. All that the people want is sufficient power to 
secure their liberties, which is simply such a state of 
things as shall secure what is right between man and man. 
Now it is the want of this all-important security, in a 
practical point of view, of which I complain. Rely on it, 
Ned, the people gain nothing by exercising an authority 
that they do not know how to turn to good account. 
It were far better for them, and for the State, to confine 
themselves to the choice of general agents, of whose char- 
acters they may know something, and then confide all 
other powers to servants appointed by those named by 
these agents, holding all alike to a rigid responsibility. 
As for the judges, they will soon take decided party char- 
acter ; and men will as blindly accuse, and as blindly de- 
fend them, as they now do their other leading partisans. 


68 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR, 


What between the bench and the jury-box, we shall shortly 
enjoy a legal pandemonium.” 

“ Yet there are those who think the trial by jury is the 
palladium of our liberties.” 

Dunscomb laughed outright, for he recollected his con- 
versation with the young men, which we have already 
related. Then suppressing his risible propensity, he con- 
tinued gravely — 

“Yes, one or two papers, well feed by this young 
woman’s spare cash, might do her more good than any 
service I can render her. I dare say the accounts now 
published, or soon to be published, will leave a strong 
bias against her.” 

“Why not fee a reporter as well as a lawyer, eh, Tom ? 
There is no great difference, as I can see.” 

“Yes, you can, and will, too, as soon as you look into the 
matter. A lawyer is paid for a known and authorized as- 
sistance, and the public recognize in him one engaged in 
the interests of his client, and accepts his statements and 
efforts accordingly. But the conductor of a public journal 
sets up a claim to strict impartiality, in his very profession, 
and should tell nothing but what he believes to be true, 
neither inventing nor suppressing. In his facts he is 
merely the publisher of a record ; in his reasoning a judge ; 
not an advocate.” 

The doctor now laughed, in his turn, and well he might ; 
few men being so ignorant as not to understand how far 
removed from all this are most of those who control the 
public journals. 

“ After all, it is a tremendous power to confide to irre- 
sponsible men ! ” he claimed. 

“ That it is, and there is nothing among us that so com- 
pletely demonstrates how far, very f,ar, the public mind is 
in the rear of the facts of the country, than the blind, reck- 
less manner in which the press is permitted to tyrannize 
over the community in the midst of all our hosannas to the 
Goddess of Liberty. Because, forsooth, what is termed a 
free press is useful, and has been useful in curbing an ir- 
responsible, hereditary power, in other lands, we are just 
stupid enough to think it is of equal importance here, 
where no such power exists, and where all that remains to 
be done is to strictly maintain the equal rights of all classes 
of citizens. Did we understand ourselves, and our real 
wants, not a paper should be printed in the State that did 
not make a deposit to meet the legal penalties it might in- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


69 


cur by the abuse of its trust. This is or was done in France, 
the country of ail others that best respects equality of 
rights in theory, if not in practice ! ” 

“ You surely would not place restrictions on the press ! ” 

“ I would though, and very severe restrictions, as salu- 
tary checks on the immense power it wields. I would, for 
instance, forbid the publication of any statement what- 
ever, touching parties in the courts, whether in civil or 
criminal cases, pending the actions, that the public mind 
might not be tainted, by design. Give the right to publish, 
and it will be, and is abused, and that most flagrantly, to 
meet the wishes of corruption. I tell you, Ned, as soon as 
you make a trade of news, you create a stock market that 
will have its rise and fall, under the impulses of fear, false- 
hood, and favor, just like your money transactions. It is 
a perversion of the nature of things, to make of news more 
than a simple statement of what has actually occurred.” 

“ It is surely natural to lie ! ” 

“ That is it, and this is the very reason we should not 
throw extraordinary protection around a thousand tongues 
which speak by means of types, that we do not give to the 
natural member. The lie that is told by the press is ten 
thousand times a lie, in comparison with that which issues 
from the mouth of man.” 

“ By George, Tom, if I had your views, I would see that 
some of this strange young woman’s money should be used 
in sustaining her, by means of the agents you mention !” 

“ That would never do. This is one of the cases in which, 
‘want of principle’ has an ascendancy over ‘principle.’ 
The upright man cannot consent to use improper instru- 
ments, while the dishonest fellows seize on them with 
avidity. So much the greater, therefore, is the necessity 
for the law’s watching the interests of the first with the ut- 
most jealousy. But, unfortunately, we run away with the 
sound, and overlook the sense of things.” 

We have related this conversation at a length which a 
certain class of our readers will probably find tedious, but 
it is necessary to a right comprehension of various features 
in the picture we are about to draw. At the Stag’s Head 
the friends stopped to let the horses blow, and, while the 
animals were cooling themselves under the care of Stephen 
Hoof, McBrain’s coachman, the gentlemen took a short 
walk in the hamlet. At several points, as they moved 
along, they overheard the subject of the murders alluded 
to, and saw divers newspapers, in the hands of sundry in- 


7o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


dividuals, who were eagerly perusing accounts of the same 
events ; sometimes by themselves, but oftener to groups of 
attentive listeners. The travellers were now so near town 
as to be completely within its moral, not to say physical, 
atmosphere — being little more than a suburb of New 
York. On their return to the inn, the doctor stopped un- 
der the shed to look at his horses, before Stephen checked 
them up again, previously to a fresh start. Stephen was 
neither an Irishman nor a black ; but a regular old-fash- 
ioned, Manhattanese coachman ; a class apart, and of whom, 
in the confusion of tongues that pervades that modern 
Babel, a few still remain, like monuments of the past, 
scattered along the Appian Way. 

“ How do your horses stand the heat, Stephen?” the 
doctor kindly inquired, always speaking of the beasts as if 
they were the property of the coachman,. and not of him- 
self. “ Pill looks as if he had been well warmed this 
morning.” 

“Yes, sir, he takes it somewhat hotter than Poleus, in 
the spring of the year, as a gineral thing. Pill vill vork 
famously, if a body vill only give him his feed in vhat I 
calls a genteel vay ; but them ’ere country taverns has 
nothing nice about ’em, not even a clean manger ; and a 
town horse that is accustomed to a sweet stable and proper 
company, won’t stand up to the rack as he should do, in 
one of their holes. Now, Poleus, I calls a gineral feeder ; 
it makes no matter vith him vhether he is at home, or out 
on a farm — he finishes his oats ; but it isn’t so vith Pill, sir 
- — his stomach is delicate, and the horse that don’t get his 
proper food vill sweat, summer or vinter.” 

“ I sometimes think, Stephen, it might be better to take 
them both off their oats for a few days, and let blood, per- 
haps ; they say that the fleam is as good for a horse as the 
lancet is for a man.” 

“Don’t think on’t, sir, I beg of you ! I’m sure they has 
doctor-stuff in their names, not to crowd ’em down vith 
any more, jist as varm veather is a settin’ in. Oats is 
physic enough for a horse, and vhen the creaturs vants 
anything more, sir, jist leave ’em to me. I knows as pecul- 
iar a drench as ever vas poured down a vheeler’s throat, 
vithout troublin’ that academy in Barclay Street, vhere so 
many gentlemen goes two or three times a veek, and vhere, 
they do say, so many goes in as never comes out whole.” 

“Well, Stephen, I’ll not interfere with your treatment, 
for I confess to very little knowledge of the diseases of 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


7i 


horses. What have you got in the paper there, that I see 
you have been reading ?” 

“Vhy, sir,” answered Stephen, scratching his head, “it’s 
all about our affair, up yonder.” 

“ Our affair ! Oh ! you mean the inquest, and the mur- 
der. Well, what does the paper say about it, Hoof ?” 

“ It says it’s a most ‘ thrilling a’count,’ sir, and an ‘awful 
tragedy,’ and it vonders vhat young vomen is a-coming to 
next. I am pretty much of the same vay of thinking, sir, 
myself.” 

“You are in the habit of thinking very much as the 
newspapers do, are you not, Stephen ? ” asked Dunscomb. 

“Veil, Squire Dunscomb, you’ve hit it! There is an 
onaccountable resemblance, like, in our thoughts. I hardly 
ever set down to read a paper, that, afore I’ve got half-way 
through it, I find it thinking just as I do ! It puzzles me 
to know how them that writes for these papers finds out a 
body’s thoughts so veil ! ” 

“ They have a way of doing it ; but it is too long a story 
to go over now. So this paper has something to ^ay about 
our young woman, has it, Stephen ? and it mentions the 
Biberry business?” 

“ A good deal, Squire ; and vhat I calls good sense too. 
Vhy, gentlemen, vhat shall we all come to, if young gals 
of fifteen can knock us in the head, matched, like, or in 
pairs, killing a whole team at one blow, and then set fire to 
the stables, and burn us up to our anatomies ?” 

“ Fifteen ! Does your account say that Miss Monson is 
only fifteen, Hoof?” 

“ ‘ She appears to be of the tender age of fifteen, and is 
of extrornary personal attractions.’ Them’s the werry 
vords, sir ; but perhaps you’d like to read it yourselves, 
gentlemen ? ” 

As Stephen made this remark, he very civilly offered the 
journal to Dunscomb, who took it ; but was not disposed 
to drop the conversation just then to read it, though his eye 
did glance at the article, as he continued the subject. This 
was a habit with him ; his clerks often saying he could 
carry the chains of arguments of two subjects in his mind 
at the same moment. His present object was to ascertain 
from this man what might be the popular feeling in regard 
to his client, at the place they had just left, and the scene 
of the events themselves. 

“What is thought and. said, at Biberry, among those with 
whom you talked, Stephen, concerning this matter ? 


I 2 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ That it’s a most awful ewent, Squire ! One of the 
worry vorst that has happened in these werry vicked times, 
sir. I heard one gentleman go over all the murders that 
has taken place about York during these last ten years, and 
a perdigious sight on ’em there vas ; so many, that I began 
to vonder I vasn’t one of the wictims myself ; but he 
counted ’em off on his fingers, and made this out to be one 
of the werry vorst of ’em all, sir. He did, indeed, sir.” 

“ Was he a reporter, Stephen ? one of the persons who 
are sent out by the papers to collect news ? ” 

“ I believe he vas, sir. Ouite a gentleman ; and vith 
something to say to all he met. He often came out to the 
stables, and had a long conwersation vith as poor a feller 
as 1 be.” 

“ Pray, what could he have to say to you, Stephen ?” de- 
manded the doctor, a little gravely. 

“Oh! lots of things, sir. He began by praising the 
horses, and asking their names. I gave him my names, sir, 
not yourn ; for I thought he might get it into print, some- 
how, that Dr. McBrain calls his coach-horses after his physic, 
Pill and Poleus ” — “ Bolus ” was the real appellation that 
the owner had been pleased to give this beast ; but as 
Stephen fancied the word had some connection with “ pole- 
horse,” he chose to pronounce it as written. “Yes, I didn’t 
\\sY\ your names to get into the papers, sir ; and so I told 
him ‘ Pill ’ vks called ‘ Marvgoold,’ and ‘ Poleus,’ ‘ Dande- 
lion.’ He promised- an article about ’em, sir; and I gave 
him the ages, blood, sires, and dams, of both the beauties. 
He told me he thought the names delightful ; and I’m 
in hopes, sir, you’ll give up yourn , arter all, and take to 
mine altogether.” 

“We shall see. And he promised an article, did he ? ” 

“Yes, sir, quite woluntary. I know’d that the horses 
couldn’t be outdone, and told him as much as that ; for I 
thought, as the subject vas up, it might be as veil to do 
’em all the credit I could. Perhaps, vlien they gets too old 
for vork, you might vish to part vith ’em, sir, and then a 
good newspaper character could do ’em no great harm.” 

Stephen was a particularly honest fellow, as to things in 
general ; but he had the infirmity which seems to be so 
general among men, that of a propensity to cheat in a 
transfer of horse-flesh. Dunscomb was amused at this ex- 
hibition of character, of which he had seen so much in his 
day, and felt disposed to follow it up. 

“ I believe you had some difficulty in choosing one of 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


73 


the horses, Stephen” — McBrain commissioned his coachman 
to do all the bargaining of this sort, and had never lost a 
cent by his confidence — “ Pill, I think it was, that didn’t 
bring as good a character as he might have done ?” 

“ Beg your pardon, Squire, ’twasn’t he, but Marygoold. 
Vhy, the thing vas this : a gentleman of the church had 
bought Marygoold to go in a buggy ; but soon vanted to 
part vith him, ’cause of his shyin’ in single harness, vhich 
frightened his vife, as he said. Now all the difficulty vas 
in this one thing — not that I cared at all about the creatur’s 
shyin’, vhich vas no great matter in double harness, you 
know, sir, and a body could soon coax him out of the notion 
on it, by judgematical drivin’ ; but the difficulty vas here 
— if the owner of a horse owned so much agin his charac- 
ter, there must be a great deal behind, that a feller must 
find out as veil as he could. I’ve know’d a foundered ani- 
mal put off under a character for shyin’.” 

“ And the owner a clergyman, Stephen ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, sir. But it makes no great matter in 
tradin’ horses ; church and the vorld is much of a much- 
ness.” 

“ Did that reporting gentleman ask any questions con- 
cerning the owner, as well as concerning the horses ?” 

“Vhy, yes, sir; vhen he vas done vith the animals, he 
did make a few observations about the doctor. He vanted 
to know if he vas married yet, and vhen it vas to happen ; 
and how much I thought he might be vorth, and how much 
Mrs. Updyke vas counted for ; and if there vas children ; 
and vhich house the family vas to live in ; and vhere he 
should keep the slate arter the veddin’ had come off ; and 
how much the doctor’s practice vas vorth ; and vhether he 
vasvhig or locy ; and, most of all, he vanted to know vhy 
he and you, sir, should go to Biberry about this murder.” 

“What did you tell him, Stephen, in reference to the 
last ? ” 

“ Vhat could I, sir? I don’t know, myself. I’ve druv’ 
the doctor often and often to see them that has died soon 
arter our wisit ; but I never druv’ him, afore, to wisit the 
dead. That gentleman seemed to think he vas much mis- 
taken about the skeletons ; but it’s all in the paper, sir.” 

On hearing this, Dunscomb quickly turned to the col- 
umns of the journal again, and was soon reading their 
contents aloud to his friends ; in the meantime Stephen 
set Marygoold and Dandelion in motion once more. 

The account was much as Dunscomb expected to find it ; 


74 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


so written as to do no possible good, while it might do a 
great deal of harm. The intention was to feed a morbid 
feeling in the vulgar for exaggerated accounts of the 
shocking — the motive being gain. Anything that would 
sell, was grist for this mill ; and the more marvellous and 
terrible the history of the event could be made, the greater 
was the success likely to be. The allusions to Mary Monson 
were managed with a good deal of address ; for, while 
there was a seeming respect for her rights, the reader was 
left to infer that her guilt was not only beyond a question, 
but of the darkest dye. It was while reading and com- 
menting on these articles, that the carriage entered Broad- 
way, and soon set Dunscomb down at his own door. There 
the doctor left it; choosing to walk as far as Mrs. Up- 
dyke’s rather than give Stephen more materials for the re- 
porter. 


CHAPTER VI. 

Then none was for a party ; 

Then all were for the state ; 

Then the great man help’d the poor, 

And the poor man lov’d the great : 

Then lands were fairly portion’d ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold ; 

The Romans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. — M acaulay. 

It has been said that John Wilmeter was left by his uncle 
at Biberry, to look after the welfare of their strange client. 
John, or Jack, as he was commonly called by his familiars, 
including his pretty sister, was in the main a very good 
fellow, though far from being free from the infirmities to 
which the male portion of the human family ^are subject, 
when under the age of thirty. He was frank, manly, 
generous, disposed to think for himself, and, what is some- 
what unusual with his countrymen, of a temperament that 
led him to make up his mind suddenly, and was not to be 
easily swayed by the notions that might be momentarily 
floating about in the neighborhood. Perhaps a little of 
a spirit of opposition to the feeling that was so rapidly 
gaining head in Biberry inclined him to take a warmer 
interest in the singular female who stood charged with 
such enormous crimes, than he might otherwise have done. 

The instructions left by Mr, Dunscomb with his nephew 


THE IV A VS OF THE HOUR. 


75 


Also gave the latter some uneasiness. In the first place, 
they had been very ample and thoughtful on the sub- 
ject of the prisoner’s comforts, which had been seen to 
in a way that is by no means common in a jail. Money 
had been used pretty freely in effecting this object, it is 
true ; but, out of the large towns, money passes for much 
less on such occasions, in America, than in most other 
countries. The people are generally kind-hearted, and 
considerate for the wants of others ; and fair words will 
usually do quite as much as dollars. Dunscomb, however, 
had made a very judicious application of both, and beyond 
the confinement and the fearful nature of the charges 
brought against her, Mary Monson had very little to com- 
plain of in her situation. 

The part of his instructions which gave John Wilrneter 
most uneasiness, which really vexed him, related to the 
prisoners innocence or guilt. The uncle distrusted ; the 
nephew was all confidence. While the first had looked at 
the circumstances coolly, and was, if anything, leaning to 
the opinion that there might be truth in the charges, the 
last beheld in Mary Monson an attractive young person of 
the other sex, whose innocent countenance was the pledge 
of an innocent soul. To John, it was preposterous to 
entertain a charge of this nature against one so. singularly 
gifted. 

“ I should as soon think- of accusing Sarah of such dark 
offences, as of accusing this young lady,” exclaimed John 
to his friend Michael Millington, while the two were taking 
their breakfast next day. “ It is preposterous — wicked — 
monstrous, to suppose that a young, educated female 
would, or could, commit such crimes. Why, Mike, she 
understands French and Italian, and Spanish ; and I think 
it quite likely that she can also read German, if indeed she 
cannot speak it.” 

“ How do you know this ? Has she been making a dis- 
play of her knowledge ? ” 

“ Not in the least — it all came out as naturally as possi- 
ble. She asked for -some of her own books to read, and 
when they were brought to her, I found that she had 
selected works in all four of these languages. I was quite 
ashamed of my own ignorance, I can assure you ; which 
amounts to no more than a smattering of French, in the 
face of her Spanish, Italian and German.” 

“Poh! I shouldn’t have minded it in the least,” 
Michael very coolly replied, his mouth being half-full of 


76 


THE WAVS OF THE HOUR. 


beefsteak. “The girls lead us in such things, of course* 
No man dreams of keeping up with a young lady who 
has got into the living languages. Miss Wilmeter might 
teach us both, and laugh at our ignorance, in the bargain.” 

“ Sarah ! Ay, she is a good enough girl, in her way — 
but no more to be compared ” 

Jack Wilmeter stopped short, for Millington dropped 
his knife with not a little clatter, on his plate, and was 
gazing at his friend in a sort of fierce astonishment. 

“You don’t dream of comparing your sister to this un- 
known and suspected stranger,” at length Michael got out, 
speaking very much like one whose head has been held 
under water until his breath was nearly exhausted. “ You 
ought to recollect, John, that virtue should never be 
brought unnecessarily in contact with vice.” 

“Mike, and do you, too, believe in the guilt of Mary 
Mon son ? ” 

“ I believe that she is committed under a verdict given 
by an inquest, and think it best to suspend my opinion as 
to the main fact, in waiting for further evidence. Remem- 
ber, Jack, how often your uncle has told us that, after all, 
good witnesses were the gist of the law. Let us wait and 
see what a trial may bring forth.” 

Young Wilmeter covered his face with his hands, bowed 
his head lo the table, and ate not another morsel that 
morning. His good sense admonished him of the pru- 
dence of the advice just given ; while feelings, impetuous, 
and excited almost to fierceness, impelled him to go forth 
and war on all who denied the innocence of the accused. 
To own the truth, John Wilmeter was fast becoming en- 
tangled in the meshes of love. 

And, sooth to say, notwithstanding the extreme awk- 
wardness of her situation, the angry feeling that was so 
fast rising up against her in Biberry and its vicinity, and 
the general mystery that concealed her real name, char- 
acter and history, there was that about Mary Monson, in 
her countenance, other personal advantages, and most of 
all in her manner and voice, that inight well catch the 
fancy of a youth of warm feelings, and through his fancy, 
sooner or later, touch his heart. As yet, John was only 
under the influence of the new-born sentiment, and had he 
now been removed from Biberry, it. is probable that the 
feelings and interest which had been so suddenly and 
powerfully awakened in him would have passed away alto- 
gether, or remained in shadow on his memory, as a melan- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


77 


choly and yet pleasant record of hours past, under circum- 
stances in which men live fast, if they do not always live 
well. Little did the uncle think of the great danger to 
which he exposed his nephew, when he placed him, like a 
sentinel in law, on duty near the portal of his immured 
client. But the experienced Dunscomb was anxious to 
bring John into active life, and to place him in situations 
that might lead him to think and execute for himself ; and 
it had been much his practice, of late, to put the young • 
man forward, whenever circumstances would admit of it. 
Although the counsellor was more than at his ease in 
fortune, and John and Sarah each possessed very respect- 
able means, that placed them altogether above depend-, 
ence, he w T as exceedingly anxious that his nephew should 
succeed to his own business, as the surest mode of secur- 
ing his happiness and respectability in a community where 
the number of the idle is relatively so small as to render 
the pursuits of a class, that is by no means without its 
uses where it can be made to serve the tastes and man- 
ners of a country, difficult of attainment. He had the 
same desire in behalf of his niece, or that she should be- 
come the wife of a man who had something to do ; and the 
circumstance that Millington, though of highly reputable 
connections, was almost entirely without fortune, was no 
objection in his eyes to the union that Sarah was so ob- 
viously inclined to form. The two young men had been 
left on the ground, therefore, to take care of the interests 
of a client who Dunscomb was compelled to admit was one 
that interested him more than any other in whose services 
he had ever been employed, strongly as he was disposed 
to fear that appearances might be deceitful. 

Our young men were not idle. In addition to doing 
all that was in their power to contribute to the personal 
comforts of Miss Monson, they were active and intelli- 
gent in obtaining and making notes of all the facts 
that had been drawn out by the coroner’s inquest, or 
which could be gleaned in the neighborhood. These facts, 
or rumors, John classed into the “proved,” the “reported,” 
the “probable,” and the “improbable;” accompanying 
each division with such annotations as made a very useful 
sort of brief for any one who wished to push the inquiries 
further. 

“There, Millington,” he said when they reached the 
jail, on their return from a walk as far as the ruins of the 
house which had been burned, and after they had dined ; 


78 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ there, I think we have done tolerably well for one 
day, and are in a fair way to give Uncle Tom a pretty 
full account of this miserable business. The more I see 
and learn of it, the more I am convinced of the perfect in- 
nocence of the accused. I trust it strikes you in the same 
way, Mike ? ” 

But Mike was bv no means as sanguine as his friend. 
He smiled faintly at this question, and endeavored to 
evade a direct answer. He saw how lively were the 
hopes of Tom, and how deeply his feelings were getting 
to be interested in the matter ; while his own judgment, 
influenced, perhaps, by Mr. Dunscomb’s example, greatly 
inclined him to the worst foreboding of the* result. Still 
he had an honest satisfaction in saying anything that 
might contribute to the gratification of Sarah’s brother, 
and a good opportunity now offering, he did not let it es- 
cape him. 

“There is one thing, Jack, that seems to have been 
strangely overlooked,” he said, “and out of which some 
advantage may come, if it be thoroughly sifted. You may 
remember it was stated by some of the witnesses, that 
there was a German woman in the family of the Good- 
wins, the day that preceded the fire — one employed in 
housework ? ” 

“Now you mention it, I do! Sure enough ; what has 
become of that woman ? 

“ While you were drawing your diagram of the ruins, 
and projecting your plan of the out-buildings, garden, 
fields, and so on, I stepped across to the nearest house, and 
had a chat with the ladies. You may remember I told you 
it was to get a drink of milk ; but I saw petticoats, and 
thought something might be learned from woman’s pro- 
pensity to talk.” 

“I know you left me, but I was too busy, just then, to 
see on what errand, or whither you went.” 

“ It was to the old stone farm-house that stands only fifty 
rods from the ruins. The family in possession is named 
Burton, and a more talkative set I never encountered in 
petticoats.” 

“How many had you to deal with, Mike ? ” John in- 
quired, running his eyes over his notes, as he asked the 
question, in a way that showed how little he anticipated 
from this interview with the Burtons. “ If more than one 
of the garrulous set, I pity you, for I had a specimen of 
them yesterday morning myself, in a passing interview.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


79 


“ There were three talkers, and one silent body. As is 
usual, I thought that the silent member of the house knew 
more than the speakers, if she had been inclined to let 
out her knowledge.” 

“Ay, that is a way we have of judging of one another ; 
but it is as often false as true. As many persons are silent 
because they have nothing to say, as because they are re- 
flecting ; and of those who look very wise, about one half, 
as near as I can judge, look so as a sort of apology for be- 
ing very silly.” 

V I can’t say how it was with Mrs. Burton, the silent 
member of the family, in this case ; but I do know that her 
three worthy sisters-in-law are to be classed among the 
foolish virgins.” 

“ Had they no oil to trim their lamps withal ?” 

“ It had all been used to render their tongues limber. 
Never did three damsels pour out words in so full a rivu- 
let, as I was honored with for the first five minutes. By 
the end of that time, I was enabled to put a question or 
two ; after which they were better satisfied to let me in- 
terrogate, while they were content to answer.” 

“ Did you learn anything, Mike, to reward you for all 
this trouble ?” again glancing at his notes. 

“ I think I did. With a good deal of difficulty in elimi- 
nating the surplusage, if I may coin a word for the occa- 
sion, I got these facts : It would seem that the German 
woman was a newly-arrived immigrant, who had strolled 
into the country, and offered to work for her food, etc. 
Mrs. Goodwin usually attended to all her own domestic 
matters ; but she had an attack of rheumatism that pre- 
disposed her to receive this offer, and that so much the 
more willingly, because the ‘help’ was not to be paid. It 
appears that the deceased female was an odd mixture of 
miserly propensities with a love of display. She hoarded 
all she could lay her hands on, and took a somewhat un- 
common pleasure in showing her hoards to her neighbors. 
In consequence of this last weakness, the whole, neighbor- 
hood knew not only of her gold, for she turned every coin 
into that metal before it was consigned to her stocking, 
but of the amount to a dollar, and the place where she 
kept it. In this all agreed, even to the silent matron.” 

“ And what has become of this German woman ? ” asked 
John, closing his notes with sudden interest. “ Why was 
she not examined before the inquest ? and where is she 
now ? ” 


So 


THE WAVS OF THE. HOUR. 


“No one knows. She has been missing ever since the 
fire, and a few fancy that she may, after all, be the person 
who has done the whole mischief. It does wear a strange 
look, that no trace can be heard of her ! ” 

“This must be looked into closely, Mike. It is unac- 
countably strange that more was not said of her before 
the coroner. Yet, I fear one thing, too. Doctor McBrain 
is a man of the highest attainments as an anatomist, and 
you will remember that he inclines to the opinion that 
both the skeletons belonged to females. Now, it may turn 
out that this German woman’s remains have been found ; 
which will put her guilt out of the question.” 

“Surely, Jack, you would not be sorry to have it turn 
out that any human being should be innocent of such 
crimes ! ” 

“ By no means ; though it really does seem to me more 
probable that an unknown straggler should be the guilty 
one in this case, than an educated young female, who has 
every claim in the way of attainments to be termed a lady. 
Besides, Michael, these German immigrants have brought 
more than their share of crime among us. Look at the 
reports of murders and robberies for the last ten years, 
and you will find that an undue proportion of them have 
been committed by this class of immigrants. To me, noth- 
ing appears more probable than this affair’s being traced 
up to that very woman.” 

“ I own you are right, in saying what you do of the 
Germans. But it should be remembered, that some of 
their states are said to have adopted the policy of sending 
their rogues to America. If England were to attempt that 
now, I fancy Jonathan would hardly stand it !” 

“ He ought not to stand it for an hour, from any nation 
on earth. If there ever was a good cause for war, this is 
one. Yes, yes; that German immigrant must be looked 
up, and examined.” 

Michael Millington smiled faintly at John Wilmeter’s 
disposition to believe the worst of the High Dutch ; touch- 
ing the frailties of whom, however, neither of the two had 
exaggerated anything. Far more than their share of the 
grave crimes of this country have, within the period named, 
been certainly committed by immigrants from Germany ; 
whether the cause be in the reason given, or in national 
character. This is not according to ancient opinion, but 
we believe it to be strictly according to fact. The Irish 
are clannish, turbulent, and much disposed to knock each 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


8r 


other on the head ; but it is not to rob, or to pilfer, but to 
quarrel. The Englishman will pick your pocket, or com- 
mit burglary, when inclined to roguery, and frequently he 
has a way of his own of extorting, in the way of vails. 
Tiie Frenchmen may well boast of their freedom from 
wrongs done to persons or property in this country ; no 
class of immigrants furnishing to the prisons, compara- 
tively, fewer criminals. The natives, out of all proportion, 
are freest from crime, if the blacks be excepted, and when 
we compare the number of the convicted with the number 
of the people. Still, such results ought not to be taken as 
furnishing absolute rules by which to judge of large bodies 
of men ; since unsettled lives on the one hand, and the 
charities of life on the other, may cause disproportions 
that would not otherwise exist. 

“ If one of these skeletons be that of the German woman, 
and Doctor McBrain should prove to be right,” said John 
Wilmeter, earnestly, “what has become of the remains of 
Mr. Goodwin ? There was a husband as well as a wife, in 
that family.” 

“ Very true,” answered Millington ; “and I learned 
something concerning him, too. It seems that the old fel- 
low drank intensely, at times, when he and his wife made 
the house too hot to hold them. All the Burtons agreed 
in giving this account of the good couple. The failing 
was not generally known, and had not yet gone so far as 
to affect the old man’s general character, though it would 
seem to have been known to the immediate neighbors.” 

“And not one word of all this is to be found in any of 
the reports in the papers from town ! Not a particle of 
testimony on the point before the inquest! Why, Mike, 
this single fact may furnish a clew to the Avhole catastro- 

p h "” ” ... 

‘ In what way?” Millington very quietly inquired. 

“Those bones are the bones of females; old Goodwin 
has robbed the house, set fire to it, murdered his wife and 
the German woman in a drunken frolic, and run away. 
Here is a history for Uncle Tom that will delight him ; 
for if he do not feel quite certain of Mary Monson’s inno- 
cence now, he would be delighted to learn its truth ! ” 

“ You make much out of a very little, Jack ; and imagine 
far more than you can prove. Why should old Goodwin 
set fire to his own house — for I understand the property 
was his — steal his own money ” — for, though married 
women did then hold a separate estate in a bed-quilt, or a 
6 


82 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


gridiron, the law could not touch the previous accumula- 
tions of a femme coverte — “ and murder a poor foreigner, who 
could neither give nor take away anything that the build- 
ing contained ? Then he is to burn his own house, and 
make himself a vagrant in his old age — and that among 
strangers ! I learn he was born in that very house, and 
has passed his days in it. Such a man would not be very 
likely to destroy it." 

“Why not, to conceal a murder? Crime must be con- 
cealed, or it is punished." 

“ Sometimes," returned Michael, dryly. “ This Mary 
Monson will be hanged, out of all question, should the case 
go against her, for she understands French, and Italian, 
and German, you say ; either of which tongues would be 
sufficient to hang her ; but had old Mrs. Goodwin mur- 
dered her , philanthropy would have been up and stirring, 
and no rope would be stretched." 

“ Millington, you have a way of talking at times that is 
quite shocking ! I do wish you could correct it. What 
use is there in bringing a young lady like Miss Monson 
down to the level of a common criminal ? " 

“ She will be brought down as low as that, depend on it, 
if guilty. There is no hope for one who bears about her 
person, in air, manner, speech, and deportment, the un- 
equivocal signs of a lady. Our sympathies are all kept for 
those who are less set apart from the common herd. Sym- 
pathy goes by majorities, as well as other matters." 

“You think her, at all events, a lady?” said John, 
quickly. “ How, then, can you suppose it possible that 
she has been guilty of the crimes of which she stands 
accused ? ” 

“ Simply, because my old-fashioned father has given me 
old-fashioned notions of the meaning of terms. So thin- 
skinned have people become lately, that even language 
must be perverted to gratify their conceit. The terms 
‘gentleman ’ and ‘lady’ have as defined meanings as any 
two words we possess— signifying persons of cultivated 
minds and of certain refinements in tastes and manners. 
Morals have nothing to do with either, necessarily, as a 
‘ gentleman ’ or ‘ lady’ may be very wicked ; nay, often are. 
It is true there are particular acts, partaking of mean- 
nesses, rather than anything decidedly criminal, that, by 
convention, a gentleman or lady may not commit ; but 
there are a hundred others, that are far worse, which are 
not prohibited. It is unlady-like to talk scandal ; but it is 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


83 


not deemed always unlady-like to give grounds to scan- 
dal. Here is a bishop who has lately been defining a 
gentleman, and, as usually happens witli such men, unless 
they were originally on a level with their dioceses, he 
describes a ‘Christian’ rather than a ‘gentleman.’ This 
notion of making converts, by means of enlisting our 
vanity and self-love in the cause, is but a weak one at the 
best.” 

“ Certainly, Mike ; I agree with you in the main. As 
large classes of polished people do exist, who have loose 
enough notions of morals, there ought to be terms to 
designate them, as a class, as well as to give any other 
name, when we have the thing. Use has applied those of 
‘ gentlemen ’ and ‘ ladies,’ and I can see no sufficient reason 
for changing them.” 

“ It comes wholly from the longings of human vanity. 
As a certain distinction is attached to the term, everybody 
is covetous of obtaining it, and all sorts of reasoning is 
resorted to, to drag them into the categories. It would be 
the same, if it were a ground of distinction, to have but 
one ear. But this distinction will be very likely to make 
things go hard with our client, Jack, if the jury say 
‘ guilty.’ ” 

“ The jury never can — never ivill render such a verdict ! 
I do not think the grand jury will even return a bill. Why 
should they ? The testimony wouldn’t convict an old state- 
prison bird.” 

Michael Millington smiled, a little sadly, perhaps — for 
John Wilmeter was Sarah’s only brother — but he made no 
reply, perceiving that an old negro, named Sip, or Scipio, 
who lived about the jail by a Sort of sufferance, and who 
had now been a voluntary adherent of a place that was 
usually so unpleasant to men of his class for many years, 
was approaching, as if he were the bearer of a message. 
Sip was an old-school black, gray-headed, and had seen 
more than his three-score years and ten. No wonder, 
then, that his dialect partook, in a considerable degree, of 
the peculiarities that were once so marked in a Manhattan 
“ nigger.” Unlike his brethren of the present day, he was 
courtesy itself to all “gentlemen,” while his respect for 
“common folks” was a good deal more equivocal. But 
chieflvdid the old man despise “yaller fellers these he 
regarded as a mongrel race, who could neither aspire to 
the pure complexion of the Circassian stock, nor lay claim 
to the glistening dye of Africa. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


24 

“ Mrs. Gott, she want to see masser,” said Scipio, bowing 
to John, grinning — for a negro seldom loses his teeth — 
and turning civilly to Millington, with a respectful incli- 
nation of a head that was as white as snow. “Yes, sail ; 
she want to see masser, soon as conbe’nent, and soon as he 
can come.” 

Now Mrs. Gott was the wife of the sheriff, and, alas! 
for the dignity of the office ! the sheriff was the keeper of 
the county jail. This is one of the fruits born on the 
wide-spreading branches of the tree of democracy. For- 
merly a New York sheriff bore a strong resemblance to his 
English namesake. He was one of the county gentry, and 
executed the duties of his office with an air and a manner ; 
appeared in court with a sword, and carried with his name 
a weight and an authority that now are nearly wanting. 
Such men would scarcely become jailers. But that uni- 
versal root of all evil, the love of money, made the dis- 
covery that there was profit to be had in feeding the 
prisoners, and a lower class of men aspired to the offices, 
and obtained them ; since which time, more than half of 
the sheriffs of New York have been their own jailers. 

“ Do you know 2 vhy Mrs. Gott wishes to see me, Scipio ? ” 
demanded Wilmeter. 

“ 1 b’lieve, sah, dat ’e young woman as murders old Mas- 
ser Goodwin and he wife, asked her to send for masser.” 

This was plain enough, and it caused Jack a severe 
pang ; for it showed how conclusively and unsparingly the 
popular mind had made up its opinion touching Mary 
Monson’s guilt. There was no time to be lost, however ; 
and the young man hastened toward the building to which 
the jail was attached, both standing quite near the court- 
house. In the door of what was her dwelling, for the time 
being, stood Mrs. Gott, the wife of the high sheriff of the 
county, and the only person in all Biberry who, as it ap- 
peared to John, entertained his own opinions of the in- 
nocence of the accused. But Mrs. Gott was, by nature, a 
kind-hearted woman ; and, though so flagrantly out of 
place in her united characters, was just such a person as 
ought to have the charge of the female department of a 
prison. Owing to the constant changes of the democratic 
principle of rotation in office, one of the most impudent of 
all the devices of a covetous envy, this woman had not 
many months before come out of the bosom of society, and 
had not seen enough of the ways of her brief and novel 
situation to have lost any of those qualities of her sex, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


85 


such as extreme kindness, gentleness of disposition, and 
feminine feeling, that are anything but uncommon among 
the women of America. In many particulars, she would 
have answered the imaginative bishop’s description of a 
“lady ; ” but she would have been sadly deficient in some 
of the requisites that the opinions of the world have at- 
tached to the character. In these last particulars, Mary 
Monson, as compared with this worthy matron, was like a 
being of another race ; though, as respects the first, we 
shall refer the reader to the events to be hereafter related, 
that he may decide the question according to his own 
judgment. 

“ Mary Monson has sent for you, Mr. Wilmeter,” the 
good Mrs. Gott. commenced, in a low, confidential sort of 
tone, as if she imagined that she and John were the especial 
guardians of this unknown and seemingly ill-fated young 
woman’s fortunes. “ She is wonderfully resigned and pa- 
tient — a great deal more patient than I should be, if I was 
obliged to live in this jail — that is, on the other side of the 
strong doors ; but she told me, an hour ago, that she is not 
sure, after all, her imprisonment is not the very best thing 
that could happen to her ! ” 

“ That was a strange remark !” returned John. “ Did she 
make it under a show of feeling, as if penitence, or any 
other strong emotion, induced her to utter it ?” 

“With as sweet a smile, as composed a manner, and as 
gentle and soft a voice as a body ever sees, or listens to ! 
What a wonderfully soft and musical voice she has, Mr. 
Wilmeter ! ” 

“ She has, indeed. I was greatly struck with it, the mo- 
ment I heard her speak. How much like a lady, Mrs. Gott, 
she uses it — and how correct and well-pronounced are her 
words ! ” 

Although Mrs. Gott and John Wilmeter had very differ- 
ent ideas, at the bottom, of the requisites to form a lady, 
and the pronunciation of the good woman was by no means 
faultless, she cordially assented to the truth of the young 
man’s eulogy. Indeed, Mary Monson, for the hour, was 
her great theme ; and, though still a young woman herself, 
and good-looking withal, she really seemed never to tire of 
uttering her praises. 

“ She has been educated, Mr. Wilmeter, far above any 

female hereabouts, unless it may be some of the s and 

s,” the good woman continued. “Those families, you 

know, are our upper crust — not upper ten thousand, as the 


86 


THE WAYS OF THE IT OUR. 


newspapers call it, but upper hundred, and their ladies 
may know as much as Mary ; but, beyond them, no female 
hereabouts can hold a candle to her! Her books have 
been brought in, and I looked them over — there isn’t more 
than one in three that I can read at all. What is more, 
they don’t seem to be all in one tongue, the foreign books, 
but in three or four.” 

“ She certainly has a knowledge of several of the living 
languages, and an accurate knowledge, too. I know a lit- 
tle of such things mvself, but my friend Millington is quite 
strong in both the living and dead languages, and he says 
that what she knows she knows well.” 

“ That is comforting — fora young lady that can speak 
so many different tongues would hardly think of robbing 
and murdering two old people in their beds. Well, sir, 
perhaps you had better go to the door and see her, though 
I could stay here and talk about her all day. Pray, Mr. 
Wilmeter, which of the languages is really dead?” 

John smiled, but civilly enlightened the sheriff’s lady on 
this point, and then, preceded by her, he went to the im- 
portant door which separated the dwelling of the family 
from the rooms of the jail. Once opened, an imperfect 
communication is obtained with the interior of the last, by 
means of a grating in an inner door. The jail of Dukes 
County is a recent construction, and is built on a plan that 
is coming much into favor, though still wanting in the 
highest proof of civilization, by sufficiently separating 
criminals, and in treating the accused with a proper de- 
gree of consideration, until the verdict of a jury has pro- 
nounced them guilty. 

The construction of this jail was very simple. A strong, 
low, oblong building had been erected on a foundation so 
filled in with stones as to render digging nearly impossible. 
The floors were of large, massive stones, that ran across 
the whole building, a distance of some thirty feet, or if 
there were joints, they were under the partition walls, ren- 
dering them as secure as if solid. The cells were not large, 
certainly, but of sufficient size to admit of light and air. 
The ceilings were of the same enormous flat stones as the 
floors, well secured by a load of stones, and beams to brace 
them, and the partitions were of solid masonry. There 
the prisoner is incased in stone, and nothing can be more 
hopeless than an attempt to get out of one of these cells, 
provided the jailer gives even ordinary attention to their 
condition. Above and around them are erected the outer 


THE WAYS OE THE HOUR . 


87 


walls of the jail. The last comprise an ordinary stone 
house, with roof, windows, and the other customary appli- 
ances of a human abode. As these walls stand several 
feet without those of the real prison, and are somewhat 
higher, the latter are an imperium in imperio ; a house with- 
in a house. The space between the walls of the two build- 
ings forms a gallery extending around all the cells. Iron 
grated gates divide the several parts of this gallery into so 
many compartments, and in the jail of Biberry care has 
been had so to arrange these subdivisions that those within 
any one compartment may be concealed from those in all 
of the others but the two that immediately join it. The 
breezes are admitted by means of the external windows, 
while the height of the ceiling in the galleries, and the 
space above the tops of the cells, contribute largely to 
comfort and health in this important particular. As the 
doors of the cells stand opposite to the windows, the entire 
jail can be, and usually is, made airy and light. Stoves in 
the galleries preserve the temperature, and effectually re- 
move all disagreeable moisture. In a word, the place is 
as neat, convenient, and decent as the jail of convicts need 
ever to be ; but the proper sort of distinction is not attend- 
ed to between them and those who are merely accused. 
Our civilization in this respect is defective. While the 
land is filled with senseless cries against an aristocracy 
which, if it exist at all, exists in the singular predicament 
of being far less favored than the democracy, involving a 
contradiction in terms ; against a feudality that consists in 
men’s having bargained to pay their debts in chickens, no 
one complaining in behalf of those who have entered into 
contracts to do the same in wheat ; and against rent , while 
usury is not only smiled on, but encouraged, and efforts are 
made to legalize extortion — the public mind is quiet on the 
subject of the treatment of those who the policy of govern- 
ment demands should be kept in security until their guilt 
or innocence be established. What reparation, under such 
circumstances, can be made to him to whom the gates are 
finally opened, for having been incarcerated on charges 
that are groundless ? The jails of the Christian world 
were first constructed by an irresponsible power, and to 
confine the weak. We imitate the vices of the system with 
a cold indifference, and shout “feudality” over a bantam, 
ora pound of butter, that are paid under contracted cove- 
nants for rent ! 


THE WAYS OF 7 'HE HOUR, 


88 


CHAPTER VII. 

Sir, this is the house; please it you that I call ? 

— 7 'aming of the Shre7u. 

The grated window which John Wilmeter now ap- 
proached, commanded nearly an entire view of the gallery 
that communicated with the cell of Mary Monson. It also 
commanded a partial view of the cell itself. As he looked 
through the grates, he saw how neat and comfortable the 
last had been made by means of Mrs. Gott’s care, aided, 
doubtless, by some of the prisoner’s money — that gold 
which was, in fact, the strongest and only very material 
circumstance against her. Mrs. Gott had put a carpet in 
the cell, and divers pieces of furniture that were useful, as 
well as two or three that were intended to be ornamental, 
rendering the otherwise gloomy little apartment tolerably 
cheerful. The gallery, much to John’s surprise, had been 
furnished also. Pieces of new carpeting were laid on the 
flags, chairs and table had been provided, and among other 
articles of this nature was a very respectable looking-glass. 
Everything appeared new, and as if just sent from the dif- 
ferent shops where the various articles were sold. Wil- 
meter fancied that not less than a hundred dollars had 
been expended in furnishing that gallery. The effect was 
surprising ; taking away from the place the chilling, jail- 
like air, and giving to it what it had never possessed 
before, one of household comfort. 

Mary Monson was walking to and fro, in this gallery, 
with slow, thoughtful steps, her head a little bowed, and 
her hands hanging before her, with the fingers interlocked. 
So completely was she lost in thought, that John’s foot- 
step, or presence at the grate, was not observed, and he 
had an opportunity to watch her for near a minute, unseen 
himself. The occupation was not exactly excusable ; but, 
under all the circumstances, young Wilmeter felt as if it 
might be permitted. It was his duty to ascertain all he 
fairly might, concerning his client. 

It has already been said that this strange girl, extraordi- 
nary by her situation as a person accused of crimes so 
heinous, and perhaps still more so by her manner of bear- 
ing up against the terrors and mortifications of her condi- 
tion, as well ns by the mystery which so completely veiled 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


89 


her past life, was not a beauty, in the common acceptation 
of the term. Nevertheless, not one female in ten thousand 
would sooner ensnare the heart of a youth, by means of 
her personal attractions alone. It was not regularity of 
features, nor brilliancy of complexion, nor lustre of the 
eyes, nor any of the more ordinary charms, that gave her 
this power ; but an indescribable union of feminine traits, 
in which intellectual gifts, spirit, tenderness, and modesty, 
were so singularly blended as to leave it questionable 
which had the advantage. Her eyes were of a very gentle 
and mild expression, when in a state of rest ; excited, they 
were capable of opening windows to the inmost soul. Her 
form was faultless; being the true medium between vigor- 
ous health and womanly delicacy ; which, in this country, 
implies much less of the robust and solid than one meets 
with in the other hemisphere. 

It is not easy to tell how we acquired those in-and-in 
habits, which get to be a sort of second nature, and almost 
bestow on us new instincts. It is by these secret sympa- 
thies, these tastes that pervade the moral, as the nerves 
form a natural telegraph through the physical, system, that 
one feels rather than sees, when he is in the company of 
persons in his own class in life. Dress will not afford an 
infallible test on such an occasion, though the daw is in- 
stantly seen not to be the peacock ; neither will ^/dress, 
for the distinctive qualities lie much deeper than the sur- 
face. But so it is ; a gentleman can hardly be brought 
into the company of man or woman, without his at once 
perceiving whether he or she belongs to his own social 
caste or not. What is more, if a man of the world, he de- 
tects almost instinctively the degrees of caste, as well as the 
greater subdivisions, and knows whether his strange com- 
panions have seen much, or little ; whether their gentility 
is merely the result of the great accident, with its custom- 
ary advantages, or has been smoothed over by a liberal 
intercourse with the better classes of a general society. 
Most of all, may a travelled person be known — and that 
more especially in a provincial country like our own — from 
one that has not travelled ; though the company kept in 
other lands necessarily draws an obvious distinction be- 
tween the last. Now John Wil meter, always mingling 
with the best society of his own country, had also been 
abroad, and had obtained that “second-sight” which so 
insensibly, but certainly, increases the vision of all Ameri- 
cans who enjoy the advantage of acquiring it. What is 


9 ° 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


more, though his years and the plans of his uncle for his 
future welfare had prevented his staying in Europe long 
enough to receive all the benefit such a tour can bestow, 
he had remained long enough to pass beyond the study of 
merely physical things ; and had made certain acquisitions 
in other matters, more essential to taste if not to charac- 
ter. When an American returns from an excursion into 
the Old World, with “ I come back better satisfied than 
ever with my own country,” it is an infallible sign that he 
did not stay long enough abroad ; and when he returns 
only to find fault, it is equally proof that he has stayed too 
long. There is a happy medium which teaches something 
near the truth, ancT that would tell us that there are a thou- 
sand things to be amended and improved at home, while 
there are almost as many enjoyed, that the oldest and most 
polished people on earth might envy. John Wil meter had 
not reached the point that enabled him to make the nicest 
distinctions, but he was sufficiently advanced to have de- 
tected what he conceived to be signs that this singular 
young creature, unknown, unsupported by any who ap- 
peared to take an interest in her, besides himself and the 
accidental acquaintances formed under the most painful 
circumstances, had been abroad ; perhaps had been edu- 
cated there. The regulated tones of one of the sweetest 
voices he had ever heard, the distinctness and precision of 
her utterance, as far as possible removed from mouthing 
and stiffness, but markedly quiet and even, with a total 
absence of all the affectations of boarding-school grammar, 
were so many proofs of even a European education, as he 
fancied ; and before that week was terminated, John had 
fully made up his mind that Mary Monson — though an 
American by birth, about which there could be no dispute 
— had been well taught in some of the schools of the Old 
World. 

This was a conclusion not reached immediately. He 
had to be favored with several interviews, and to worm 
himself gradually into the confidence of his uncle’s client, 
ere he could be permitted to see enough of the subject of 
his studies to form an opinion so abstruse and ingenious. 

When Mary Monson caught a glimpse of John Wil- 
meter’s head at her grate — where he stood respectfully 
uncovered, as in a lady’s presence — a slight flush passed 
over her face ; but expecting him, as she did, she could 
not well be surprised. 

“This bears some resemblance, Mr. Wilmeter, to an in- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


9i 


terview in a convent,” she then said, with a slight smile, 
but with perfect composure of manner. “I am the novice 
— and novice am I, indeed, to scenes like this — you, the ex- 
cluded friend, who is compelled to pay his visit through a 
grate ! I must apologize for all the trouble I am giving you.” 

“Do not name it — I cannot be better employed than in 
your behalf. I am rejoiced that you sustain yourself so 
well against what must be a most unheard-of calamity for 
one like yourself, and cannot but admire the admirable 
equanimity with which you bear your cruel fortune.” 

“ Equanimity ! ” repeated Mary with emphasis, and a 
slight display of intense feeling powerfully controlled ; “if 
it be so, Mr. Wilmeter, it must be from the sense of se- 
curity that I feel. Yes ; for the first time in months, I do 
feel myself safe — secure.” 

“ Safe ! Secure ! What, in a jail ? ” 

“ Certainly ; jails are intended for places of security, are 
they not?” answered Mary, smiling, but faintly and with 
a gleam of sadness on her face. “ This may appear won- 
derful to you, but I do tell no more than sober truth, in 
repeating that, for the first time in months, I have now 
a sense of security. I am what you call in the hands of 
the law, and one there must be safe from everything but 
what the law can do to her. Of that I have no serious 
apprehensions, and I feel happy.” 

“ Happy ! ” 

“Yes ; by comparison, happy. I tell you this the more 
willingly, for I plainly see you feel a generous interest in 
my welfare— -an interest which exceeds that of the counsel 
in his client ” 

“A thousand times exceeds it, Miss Monson ! Nay — is 
not to be named with it ! ” 

“ I thank you, Mr. Wilmeter — from my heart I thank 
you,” returned the prisoner, a slight flush passing over 
her features, while her eyes were cast toward the floor. 
“ I believe your are one of strong feelings and quick im- 
pulses, and am grateful that these have been in my favor, 
under circumstances that might well have excused you for 
thinking the worst. From the hints of this kind woman, 
Mrs. Gott, I am afraid that the opinion of Biberry is less 
consoling ? ” 

“ You must know how it is in country villages, Miss 
Monson — every one has something to say, and every one 
brings all things down to the level of his own knowledge 
and understanding.” 


9 2 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


Mary Monson smiled again ; this time more naturally, 
and without any painful expression to. lessen the bright 
influence that lighting up of her features gave to a counte- 
nance so remarkable for its appearance of illumination 
from within. 

“ fs not such the case in towns, as well as in villages, 
Mr. Wilmeter?” she asked. 

“ Perhaps it is — but I mean that the circle of knowledge 
is more confined in a place like this, than in a large town, 
and that the people here could not well go beyond it.” 

“Biberry is so near New York, that I should think, tak- 
ing class against class, no great difference can be found in 
their inhabitants. That which the good folk of Biberry 
think of my case, 1 am afraid will be thought of it by those 
of your own town.” 

“ My own town? — and are you not really from New 
York, Miss Monson.” 

“ In no manner,” answered Mary, once more smiling ; 
this time, however, because she understood how modestly 
and readily her companion was opening a door by which 
she might let a secret she had declined to reveal to his 
uncle, escape. “ I am not what you call a Manhattanese, in 
either descent, birth, or residence ; in no sense, whatever.” 

“ But, surely, you have never been educated in the coun- 
try ? You must belong to some large town — your manners 
show that— I mean that you ” 

“Do not belong to Biberry. In that you are quite 
right, sir, I had never seen Biberry three months since ; 
but, as for New York, I have not passed a month there, 
in my whole life. The longest visit I ever paid you was 
one of ten days, when I landed, coming from Havre, about 
eighteen months since.” 

“From Havre! Surely, you are an American, Miss 
Monson — our own countrywoman ?” 

“Your own countrywoman, Mr. Wilmeter, by birth, 
descent, and feelings. But an American female may visit 
Europe.” 

“Certainly; and be educated there, as I had already 
suspected was your case.” 

“In part it was, and in part it w r as not.” Here Mary 
paused, looked a little arch, seemed to hesitate, and to 
have some doubts whether she ought to proceed, or not ; 
but finally added — “You have been abroad yourself?” 

“ I have. I was nearly three years in Europe ; and have 
not been home yet quite a twelvemonth.” 


THE IK1YS OF THE HOUR , 


93 


“You went into the East, I believe, after passing a few 
months in the Pyrenees ? ” continued the prisoner, care- 
lessly. 

“You are quite right ; we travelled as far as Jerusalem. 
The journey lias got to be so common that it is no longer 
dangerous. Even ladies make it now without any appre- 
hension.” 

“ I am aware of that, having made it myself ” 

“ You, Miss Monson ! You have been at Jerusalem ! ” 

“Why not, Mr. Wilmeter? You say yourself, that fe- 
males constantly make the journey ; why not I as well as 
another ? ” 

“ I scarce know, myself ; but it is so strange — all about 
you is so very extraordinary — — ” 

“You think it extraordinary that one of my sex, who 
has been partly educated in Europe, and who has travelled 
in the Holy Land, should be shut up in this jail in Biberry 
— is it not so ? ” 

“ That is one view of the matter, I will confess ; but it 
was scarcely less strange that such a person should be 
dwelling in a garret-room of a cottage like that of these 
unfortunate Goodwins.” 

“That touches on my secret, sir; and no more need be 
said. You may judge how important I consider that se- 
cret, when I know its preservation subjects me to the most 
cruel distrust ; and that, too, in the minds of those with 
whom I would so gladly stand fair. Your excellent uncle, 
for instance, and — yourself.” 

“ I should be much flattered could I think the last — I, 
who have scarcely the claim of an acquaintance.” 

“You forget the situation in which your respectable and 
most worthy uncle hasleft you here, Mr. Wilmeter; which, 
of itself, gives you higher claims to my thanks and confi- 
dence than any that mere acquaintance could bestow. Be- 
sides, we are not ” — another arch, but scarcely perceptible, 
smile again illuminated that remarkable countenance — 
“ the absolute strangers to each other that you seem to 
think us.” 

“Not strangers ? You amaze me ! If I have ever had 
the honor ” 

“Honor!” interrupted Mary, a little bitterly. “It is 
truly a great honor to know one in my situation !” 

“ I esteem it an honor ; and no one lias a right to call in 
question my sincerity. If we have ever met before, I will 
frankly own that I am ignorant of both the time and place.” 


94 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ This does not surprise me in the least. The time is 
long, for persons as young as ourselves, and the place was 
far away. Alh! those were happy days for me, and most 
gladly would I return to them ! But we have talked 
enough on this subject. I have declined telling my tale 
to your most excellent and very respectable uncle ; you 
will, therefore, the more easily excuse me if I decline tell- 
ing it to you.” 

“ Who am not ‘ most excellent and very respectable,’ to 
recommend me.” 

“Who are too near my own age to make you a proper 
confidant, were there no other objection. The character that 
I learned of you, when we met before, Mr. Wilmeter, was, 
however, one of which you have no reason to be ashamed.” 

This was said gently, but earnestly ; was accompanied 
by a most winning smile, and was instantly succeeded by 
a slight blush. John Wilmeter rubbed his forehead, sooth 
to say, in a somewhat stupid manner, as if expecting to 
brighten his powers of recollection by friction. A sudden 
change was given to the conversation, however, by the fair 
prisoner herself, who quietly resumed : 

“We will defer this part of the subject to another time. 
I did not presume to send for you, Mr. Wilmeter, without 
an object, having your uncle’s authority for givingyou all 
this trouble ” 

“ And my own earnest request to be permitted to serve 
you in any way I could.” 

“ I have not forgotten that offer, nor shall I ever. The 
man who is willing to serve a woman whom all around her 
frown on, has a fair claim to be remembered. Good Mrs. 
Gott and yourself are the only two friends I have in Bi- 
berry. Even your companion, Mr. Millington, is a little 
disposed to judge me harshly.” 

John started ; the movement was so natural that his 
honest countenance would have betrayed him had he been 
disposed to deny the imputation. 

“ That Millington has fallen into the popular notion 
about here, I must allow, Miss Monson ; but he is an ex- 
cellent fellow at the bottom, and will hear reason. Preju- 
dices that are beyond reason are detestable, and I generally 
avoid those whose characters manifest this weakness ; but 
Mike will always listen to what he calls ‘law and facts,’ 
and so we get along very well together.” 

“ It is fortunate ; since you are about to be so nearly 
connected ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 95 ' 

“Connected ! Is it possible that you know this circum- 
stance ? ” 

“You will find in the end, Mr. Wilmeter,” returned the 
prisoner, smiling — this time naturally, as one manifests 
satisfaction without pain of any sort — “ that I know more 
of your private affairs than you had supposed. But let me 
come to business, if you please, sir. I have great occasion 
here for a maid-servant. Do you not think that Miss Wil- 
meter might send me one from town ?” 

“ A servant ! I know the very woman that will suit you. 
A perfect jewel, in her way ! ” 

“That is a very housekeeper sort of a character,” re- 
joined Mary, absolutely laughing, in spite of her prison 
walls and all the terrible charges that had brought her 
within them ; “just such a character as I might have ex- 
pectedfrom Doctor McBrain’s intended, Mrs. Updyke ” 

“ And you know it, too ! Why will you not tell us more, 
since you tell us so much ?” 

“In good time, I suppose all will come out. Well, I en- 
deavor to submit to my fate, or to the will of God ! ” 
There was no longer anything merry, in voice, face, or 
manner, but a simple, natural pathos was singularly mixed 
in the tones with which those few words were uttered. 
Then rousing herself, she gravely resumed the subject 
which had induced her to send for John. 

“You will pardon me if I say that I would prefer a 
woman chosen and recommended by your sister, Mr. Wil- 
meter, than one chosen and recommended by yourself,” 
said Mary. “ When I shall have^occasion for a footman, I 
will take your advice. It is very important that I should 
engage a respectable, discreet woman ; and I will venture 
to write a line, myself, to Miss Wilmeter, if you will be so 
kind as to send it. I know this is not the duty of a coun- 
sel ; but you see my situation. Mrs. Gott has offered to 
procure a girl forme, it is true; but the prejudice is so 
strong against me in Biberry, that I doubt if the proper 
sort of person could be obtained. At any rate, I should 
be receiving a spy into my little household, instead of a 
domestic in whom I could place confidence.” 

“ Sarah would join me in recommending Marie, who 
has been with herself more than two years, and only left 
her to take care of her father in his last illness. Another, 
equally excellent, has been taken in her place ; and now, 
that she wishes to return to my sister’s service, there is no 
opening for her. Mike Millington is dying to return to 


9 6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


town, and will gladly go over this evening. By breakfast- 
time to-morrow the woman might be here, if ” 

“ She will consent to serve a mistress in my cruel situa- 
tion. I feel the full weight of the objection, and know 
how difficult it will be to get a female, who values her 
character as a servant, to enter on such an engagement. 
You called this woman Marie ; by that I take it she is a 
foreigner ? ” 

“ A Swiss — her parents emigrated ; but I knew her in 
the service of an American family abroad and got her for 
Sarah. She is the best creature in the world — if she can 
be persuaded to come.” 

Had she been an American I should have despaired 
of succeeding unless her feelings could have been touched ; 
but, as she is a foreigner, perhaps money will procure her 
service. Should Miss Wilmeter approve of your selection, 
sir, I will entreat her to go as high as fifty dollars a month, 
rather than not get the sort of person I want. You can 
imagine how much importance I attach to success. To 
escape remarks and gossiping, the person engaged can 
join me as a companion, or friend, and not as a servant.” 

“I will get Mike off in half an hour, and Sarali will at 
least make an effort. Yes, Marie Moulin, or Mary Mill, 
as the girls call her, is just the thing!” 

“ Marie Moulin ! Is that the name of the woman ? She 
who was in the service of the Barringers, at Paris ? Do 
you mean that person — five and thirty, slightly pock- 
marked, with light-blue eyes, and yellowish hair — more 
like a German than her French name would give reason 
to expect ? ” 

“The very same; and you knew her, too! Why not 
bring all your friends around you at once, Miss Monson, 
and not remain here an hour longer than is necessary.” 

Mary was too intent on the subject of engaging the 
woman in question, to answer this last appeal. Earnestly 
did she resume her instructions, therefore, and with an 
eagerness of manner young Wilmeter had never before 
observed in her. 

“ If Marie Moulin be the person meant,” she said, “ I 
will spare no pains to obtain her services. Her attentions 
to Mrs. Barringer, in her last illness, were admirable ; and 
we all loved her, I may say. Beg your sister to tell her, 
Mr. Wilmeter, that an old acquaintance, in distress, im- 
plores her assistance. That will bring Marie, sooner than 
money, Swiss though she be.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


97 


“ If you would write her a line, inclosing your real 
name, for we are persuaded it is not Monson, it might 
have more effect than all our solicitations, in behalf of 
one that is unknown.” 

The prisoner turned slowly from the grate and walked 
up and down her gallery for a minute or two, as if pon- 
dering on this proposal. Once she smiled, and it almost 
gave a lustre to her remarkable countenance ; then a cloud 
passed over her face, and once more she appeared sad. 

“No,” she said, stopping near the grate again, in one of 
her turns. “ I will not do it — it will be risking too much. 
I can do nothing, just now, that will tell more of me than 
your sister can state.” 

“ ShouLd Marie Moulin know you, she must recognize 
you when you meet.” 

“It will be wiser to proceed a little in the dark. I con- 
fide all to your powers of negotiation, and shall remain 
as tranquil as possible until to-morrow morning. There 
is still another little affair that I must trouble you with, 
Mr. Wilmeter. My gold is sequestered, as you know, and 
I am reduced to an insufficient amount of twos and threes. 
Might I ask the favor of you to obtain smaller notes for 
this, without mentioning in whose behalf it is done ?” 

While speaking Mary handed through the grate a hun- 
dred dollar note of one of the New York banks, with a 
manner so natural and unpretending, as at once to con- 
vince John Wilmeter, ever so willing to be persuaded into 
anything in her favor, that she was accustomed to the use 
of money in considerable sums ; or, what might be consid- 
ered so, for the wants and habits of a female. Luckily, 
he had nearly money enough in his wallet to change the 
note, making up a small balance that was needed, by 
drawing five half-eagles from his purse. The prisoner held 
the last, in the open palm of one of the most beautiful 
little hands the eyes of man ever rested on. 

“ This metal lias been my bane, in more ways than one, 
Mr. Wilmeter,” she said, looking mournfully at the coin. 
“Of one of its evil influences on my fate, I may not speak 
now, if ever; but you will understand me when I say, 
that I fear that gold piece of Italian money is the princi- 
pal cause of my being where I am.” 

“ No doubt it has been considered one of the most ma- 
terial of the facts against you, Miss Monson, though it is 
by no means conclusive, as evidence, even with the most 
bitter and prejudiced.” 

7 


9 8 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

“I hope not. Now, Mr. Wilmeter, I will detain you no 
longer, but beg you to do my commission with your sister, 
as you would do it for her with me. I would write, but 
my hand is so peculiar it were better that I did not.” 

Mary Monson now dismissed the young man, with the 
manner of one very familiar with the tone of good society 
— a term that it is much the fashion to ridicule just now, 
but which conveys a meaning that it were better the scof- 
fers understood. This she did, however, after again apol- 
ogizing for the trouble she was giving, and thanking him 
earnestly for the interest he took in her affairs. We be- 
lieve in animal magnetism ; and cannot pretend to say 
what is the secret cause of the powerful sympathy that is 
so often suddenly awakened between persons of different 
sexes, and, in some instances, between those who are of 
the same sex ; but Mary Monson, by that species of in- 
stinct that teaches the female where she has awakened an 
interest livelier than common, and possibly where she has 
not, was certainly already aware that John Wilmeter did 
not regard her with the same cool indifference he would 
have felt toward an ordinary client of his uncle’s. In 
thanking him, therefore, her own manner manifested a 
little of the reflected feeling that such a state of things is 
pretty certain to produce. She colored, and slightly hesi- 
tated once, as if she paused to choose her terms with more 
than usual care ; but, in the main, acquitted herself well. 
The parting betrayed interest, perhaps feeling, on both 
sides, but nothing very manifest escaped either of our 
young people. 

Never had John Wilmeter been at a greater loss to inter- 
pret facts, than he was on quitting the grate. The prisoner 
was truly the most incomprehensible being he had ever 
met with. Notwithstanding the fearful nature of the 
charges against her— charges that might well have given 
great uneasiness to the firmest man — she actually seemed 
in love with her prison. It is true, that worthy Mrs. Gott 
had taken from the place many of its ordinary, repulsive 
features ; but it was still a jail, and the sun could be seen 
only through grates, and massive walls separated her that 
was within, from the world without. As the young man 
was predisposed to regard everything connected with this 
extraordinary young woman, couleur de rose , however, he 
saw nothing but the surest signs of innocence in several 
circumstances that might have increased the distrust of 
liis cooler-headed uncle ; but most persons would have re- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR'. 


99 


garded the gentle tranquillity, that now seemed to soothe 
a spirit that had evidently been much troubled of late, as 
a sign that her hand could never have committed the atroc- 
ities with which she was charged. 

“ Is she not a sweet young thing, Mr. Wilmeter?” ex- 
claimed kind Mrs. Gott, while locking the doors after 
John, on his retiring from the grate. “ I consider it an 
honor to Biberry jail to have such a prisoner within its 
walls ! ” 

“ I believe that you and I stand alone in our favorable 
opinion of Miss Monson,” John answered ; “so far, at least, 
as Biberry is concerned. The excitement against her seems 
to be at the highest pitch ; and I much doubt whether a 
fair trial can be had in the county.” 

“ The newspapers won’t mend the matter sir. The 
papers from town this morning are full of the affair, and 
they all appear to lean the same way. But it’s a long road 
that has no turning, Mr. Wilmeter.” 

“Very true, and nothing wheels about with a quicker 
step than the sort of public opinion that is got up under 
a cry, and runs itself out of breath at the start. I expect 
to see Mary Monson the most approved and most extolled 
woman in this county, yet!” 

Mrs. Gott hoped with all her heart that it might be so, 
though she had, certainly, misgivings that the young man 
did not feel. Half an hour after John Wilmeter had left 
the jail, his friend Michael Millington was on the road to 
town, carrying a letter to Sarah, with a most earnest re- 
quest that she would use all her influence with Marie 
Moulin to engage.inthe unusual service asked of her, for 
a few weeks, if for no longer a period. This letter reached 
its destination in due time, and greatly did the sister mar- 
vel over its warmth, as well as over the nature of the re- 
quest. 

“ I never knew John to write so earnestly ! ” exclaimed 
Sarah, when she and Michael had talked over the matter 
a few moments. “ Were he actually in love, I could not 
expect him to be more pressing.” 

“ I will not swear that he is not,” returned the friend, 
laughing. “ He sees everything with eyes so different 
from mine, that I scarce know what to make of him. I 
have never known John so deeply interested in any hu- 
man being, as he is at this moment in this strange creat- 
ure ! ” 

“Creature! You men do not often call young ladies 


IOO 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


creatures ; and my brother affirms that this Mary Monson 
is a lady.” 

“Certainly she is, so far as exterior, manner, education, 
and, I suppose, tastes, are concerned. Nevertheless, there 
is too much reason to think she is, in some way unknown 
to us, connected with crime.” 

“I have read accounts of persons of these attainments 
who have been leagued together, and have carried on a 
great system of plundering for years, with prodigious suc- 
cess. That, however, was in older countries, where the 
necessities of a crowded population drive men into ex- 
tremes. We are hardly sufficiently advanced, or civilized 
as they call it, for such bold villany.” 

“A suspicion of that nature has crossed my mind,” re- 
turned Millington, looking askance over his shoulder, as 
if he apprehended that his friend might hear him. “It 
will not do, however, to remotely hint to John anything 
of the sort. His mind is beyond the influence of testi- 
mony.” 

Sarah scarce knew what to make of the affair, though 
sisterly regard disposed her to do all she could to oblige 
her brother. Marie Moulin, however, was not easily per- 
suaded into consenting to serve a mistress who was in 
prison. She held up her hands, turned up her eyes, .ut- 
tered fifty exclamations, and declared, over and over again, 
“ c' est impossible; ” and wondered how a female in such a 
situation could suppose any respectable domestic would 
serve her, as it would be very sure to prevent her ever 
getting a good place afterward. This last objection struck 
Sarah as quite reasonable, and had not her brother been 
so very urgent with her, would of itself have induced her 
to abandon all attempt at persuasion. Marie, however, 
finally yielded to a feeling of intense curiosity, when no 
bribe in money could have bought her. John had said the 
prisoner knew her — had known her in Europe — and she 
was soon dying with the desire to know who, of all her 
many acquaintances in the old world, could be the partic- 
ular individual who had got herself into this formidable 
difficulty. It was impossible to resist this feeling, so truly 
feminine, which was a good deal stimulated bv a secret 
wish in Sarah, also, to learn who this mysterious person 
might be ; and who did not fail to urge Marie, with all 
her rhetoric, to consent to go and, at least, see the person 
who had .so strong a wish to engage her services. The 
Swiss had not so much difficulty in complying, provided 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. I0I 

she was permitted to reserve her final decision until she 
had met the prisoner, when she might gratify her curiosity, 
and return to town prepared to enlighten Miss Wilmeter, 
and all her other friends, on a subject that had got to be 
intensely interesting. 

It was not late, next morning, when Marie Moulin, at- 
tended by John Wilmeter, presented herself to Mrs. Gott, 
as an applicant for admission to the gallery of Mary Mon- 
son. 1 he young man did not show himself, on this oc- 
casion ; though he was near enough to hear the grating 
of the hinges when the prison-door opened. 

“ C’est bien vous done, Marie ! ” said the prisoner, in a 
quick but pleased salutation. 

“Mademoiselle!” exclaimed the Swiss. The kisses of 
women succeeded. . The door closed, and John Wilmeter 
learned no more, on that occasion. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

And can you by no drift of conference 

Get from him why he puts on this confusion — Hamlet. 

There is something imaginative, if not very picturesque, 
in the manner in which the lawyers of Manhattan occupy 
the buildings of Nassau Street, a thoroughfare which con- 
nects Wall Street with , the Tombs. There they throng, 
resembling the remains of so many monuments along the 
Appian Way, with a “ siste, viator ” of their own, to arrest 
the footsteps of the wayfarer. We must now transfer the 
scene to a building in this street, which stands about half- 
way between Maiden Lane and John Street, having its front 
plastered over with little tin signs, like a debtor marked 
by writs, or what are now called “ complaints.” Among 
these signs, which afforded some such pleasant reading as 
an almanac, was one that bore this simple and reasonably 
intelligent inscription : 

“ Thomas Dunscomb, 2 d floor, in front.” 

It is somewhat singular that terms as simple as those of 
first floor, second floor, etc., should not signify the same 
things in the language of the mother country and that of 
this land of progress and liberty. Certain it is, neverthe- 


102 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


less, that in American parlance, more especially in that of 
Manhattan, a first floor is never up one pair of stairs, as in 
London, unless indeed the flight is that by which the 
wearied foot-passenger climbs the high stoop to gain an 
entrance into the building. In other words, an English 
first floor corresponds with an American second ; and, 
taking that as the point of departure, the same difference 
exists throughout. Tom Dunsconib’s office (or offices 
would be the better term) occupied quite half of the second 
story of a large double house, t h at had once been the habita- 
tion of some private family of note, but which had long been 
abandoned to the occupation of these ministers of the law. 
Into those offices it has now become our duty to accom- 
pany one who seemed a little strange in that den of the 
profession, at the Very moment he was perfectly at home. 

“Lawyer Dunscombin?” demanded this person, who 
had a decided rustic mien, though his dress had a sort of 
legal dye on it, speaking to one of the five or six clerks 
who raised their heads on the stranger’s entrance. 

“ In, but engaged in a consultation, I believe,” answered 
one who, being paid for his services, was the working 
clerk of the office ; most of the others being students who 
get no remuneration for their time, and who very rarely 
deserve it. 

“I’ll wait till he is through,” returned the stranger, 
helping himself coolly to a vacant chaif, and taking his seat 
in the midst of dangers that might have alarmed one less 
familiar with the snares, and quirks, and quiddities of the 
law. The several clerks, after taking a good look each at 
their guest, cast their eyes down on their books or fools- 
cap, and seemed to be engrossed with their respective oc- 
cupations. Most of the young men, members of respectable 
families in town, set the stranger down for a rustic client ; 
but the working clerk saw at once, by a certain self-pos- 
sessed and shrewd manner, that the stranger was a country 
practitioner. 

In the course of the next half hour, Daniel Lord and 
George Wood came out of the sanctum, attended as far as 
the door by Dunscomb himself. Exchanging “ good morn- 
ing” with his professional friends, the last caught a 
glimpse of his patient visitor, whom he immediately 
saluted by the somewhat brief and familiar name of 
Timms, .inviting him instantly, and with earnestness, to 
come within the limits of the privileged. Mr. Timms 
complied, entering the sanctum with the air of one who 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR, 


103 


had been there before, and appearing to, be in no manner 
overcome by the honor he enjoyed. And now, as a faithful 
chronicler of events, it is here become our painful, not to 
say revolting duty, to record an act on the part of the man 
who was known throughout Dukes County as Squire 
Timms, which it will never do to overlook, since it lias 
got to be perfectly distinctive and characteristic of late 
years, not of an individual, but of large classes who throng 
the bar, the desk, the steam-boats, the taverns, the streets. 
A thousand paragraphs have been written on the subject 
of American spitting, and not one line, as we can remem- 
cer, on the subject of an equally common and still grosser 
offence against the minor morals of the country, if de- 
cency in manners maybe thus termed. Our meaning will 
be explained more fully in the narrative of the stranger’s 
immediate movements on entering the sanctum. 

“ Take ft, seat, Mr. Timms,” said Dunscomb, motioning 
to a chair, while he resumed his own well-cushioned seat, 
and deliberately proceeded to light a. cigar, not without 
pressing several with a species of intelligent tenderness, 
between his thumb and finger. “ Take a seat, sir ; and 
take a cigar.” 

Here occurred the great tour de -force in manners of 
Squire Timms. Considerately turning his person quarter- 
ing toward his host, and seizing himself by the nose, much 
as if he had a quarrel with that member of his face, he 
blowed a blast that sounded sonorously, and which ful- 
filled all that it promised. Now a better-mannered man 
than Dunscomb it would not be easy to find. He was not 
particularly distinguished for elegance of deportment, but 
he was perfectly well-bred. Nevertheless, he did not flinch 
before this broad hint from vulgarity, but stood it un- 
moved. To own the truth, so large has been the inroad 
from the base of society, within the last five-and-twenty 
years, on the habits of those who once exclusively dwelt 
together, that he had got hardened even to this innovation. 
The fact is not to be concealed, and, as we intend never to 
touch upon the subject again, we shall say distinctly that 
Mr. Timms blew his nose with his fingers, and that, in so 
doing, he did not innovate half as much, to-day, on the 
usages of the Upper Ten Thousand, as he would have 
done had he blown his nose with his thumb only, a quar- 
ter of a century since. 

Dunscomb bore this infliction- philosophically ; and well 
he might, for there was no remedy. Waiting for Timms 


104 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


to use his handkerchief, which was produced somewhat 
tardily for such ah operation, he quietly opened the sub- 
ject of their interview. 

“ So the grand jury has actually found a bill for murder 
and arson, my nephew writes me,” Dunscomb observed, 
looking inquiringly at his companion, as if really anxious 
for further intelligence. 

“ Unanimously, they tell me, Mr. Dunscomb,” answered 
Timms. “ I understand that only one man hesitated, and 
he was brought round before they came into court. That 
piece of money damns our case in old Dukes.” 

“Money saves more cases than it damns, Timms ; and 
no one knows it better than yourself.” 

“ Very true, sir. Money may defy even the new Code. 
Give me five hundred dollars, and change the proceedings 
to a civil action, and I’ll carry anything in my own county 
that you’ll put on the calendar, barring some twenty or 
thirty jurors I could name. There are about thirty men 
in the county that I can do nothing with — for that matter, 
whom I dare not approach.” 

“How the deuce is it, Timms, that you manage your 
causes with so much success ? for I remember you have 
given me a good deal of trouble in suits in which law and 
fact were both clearly enough on my side.” 

“ I suppose those must have been causes in which we 
‘ horse-shedded ’ and ‘ pillowed ’ a good deal.” 

“ Horse-shedded and pillowed ! Those are legal terms 
of which I have no knowledge ! ” 

^ They are country phrases, sir, and country customs 
too, for that matter. A man might practise a long life in 
town, and know nothing about them. The Halls of Jus- 
tice are not immaculate ; but they can tell us nothing of 
horse-shedding and pillowing. They do business in a way 
of which we in the country are just as ignorant as you are 
of our mode.” 

“ Have the goodness, Timms, just to explain the mean- 
ing of your terms, which are quite new to me. I will not 
swear they are not in the Code of Practice, but they are in 
neither Blackstone nor Kent.” 

“ Horse-shedding, Squire Dunscomb, explains itself. In 
the country most of the jurors, witnesses, etc., have more 
or less to do with the horse-sheds, if it’s only to see that 
their beasts are fed. Well, we keep proper talkers there, 
and it must be a knotty case, indeed, into which an ingen- 
ious hand cannot thrust a doubt or an argument. To 


TFIE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


I0 5 

be frank with you, I’ve known three pretty difficult suits 
summed up under a horse-shed in one day : and twice as 
many opened.” 

“ But how is this done ? — do you present your arguments 
directly, as in court ?” 

“ Lord bless you, no. In court, unless the jury happen 
to be unusually excellent, counsel have to pay some little 
regard to the testimony and the law ; but, in horse-shed- 
ding, one has no need of either. A skilful horse-shedder, 
for instance, will talk a party to pieces, and not say a word 
about the case. That’s the perfection of the business. It’s 
against the law, you know, Mr. Dunscomb, to talk of a case 
before a juror — an indictable offence — but one may make a 
case of a party’s general character, of his means, his miser- 
ly qualities, or his aristocracy ; and it will be hard to get 
hold of the talker for any of them qualities. Aristocracy, 
of late years, is a capital argument, and will suit almost 
any state of facts, or any action you can bring. Only per- 
suade the jury that the plaintiff or defendant fancies him- 
self better than they are, and the verdict is certain. I got 
a thousand dollars in the Springer case, solely on that 
ground. Aristocracy did it ! It is going to do us a great 
deal of harm in this murder and arson indictment.” 

“ But Mary Monson is no aristocrat — she is a stranger, 
and unknown. What privileges does she enjoy, to render 
her obnoxious to the charge of aristocracy ? ” 

“ More than will do her any good. Her aristocracy does 
her almost as much harm in old Dukes as the piece of gold. 
I always consider a cause as half lost when there is any 
aristocracy in it.” 

“ Aristocracy means exclusive political privileges in the 
hands of a few; and it means nothing else. Now what 
exclusive political privileges does this unfortunate young- 
woman enjoy ? She is accused of two of the highest 
crimes known to the laws, is indicted, imprisoned, and will 
be tried.” 

“ Yes, and by her peers” said Timms, taking out a very 
respectable-looking box, and helping himself liberally to a 
pinch of cut tobacco. “ It’s wonderful, Squire Dunscomb, 
how much breadth th t peerage possesses in this country ! I 
saw a trial, a year or two since, in which one of the highest 
intellects of the land was one of the parties, and in which 
a juror asked the judge to explain the meaning of the word 
* bereaved.’ That citizen had his rights referred to his 
peers, with a vengeance !” 


io6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“Yes ; the venerable maxim of the common law is, oc- 
casionally, a little caricatured among us. This is owing to 
our adhering to antiquated opinions after the facts in which 
they had their origin have ceased to exist. But, by your 
manner of treating the subject, Timms, I infer that you 
give up the aristocracy.” 

“ Not at all. Our client will have more risks to run on 
account of that , than on account of any other weak spot in 
her case. I think we might get along with the piece of 
gold, as a life is in question, but it is not quite so easy to 
see how we are to get along with the aristocracy.” 

“And this in the face of her imprisonment, solitary con- 
dition, friendless state, and utter dependence on strangers, 
for her future fate ? I see no one feature of aristocracy 
to reproach her with.” 

“ But I see a great many, and so does the neighborhood. 
It is already getting to be the talk of half the county. In 
short, all are talking about it, but they who know better. 
You’ll see, Squire Dunscomb, there are two sorts of aris- 
tocracy in the eyes of most people ; your sort and my sort. 
Your sort is a state of society that gives privileges and 
power to a few, and keeps it there. That is what I call 
old-fashioned aristocracy, about which nobody cares any- 
thing in this country. We have no aristocrats, I allow, and 
consequently they don’t signify a straw.” 

“Yet they are the only true aristocrats, after all. But 
what, or who are yours ?” 

“Well, now, squire , you are a sort of aristocrat yourself, 
in a certain way. I don’t know how it is — -I’m admitted 
to the bar as well as you — have just as many rights ” 

“ More, Timms, if leading jurors by the nose, and horse- 
shedding, can be accounted rights.” 

“Well, more in some respects, maybe. Notwithstand- 
ing all this, there is a difference between us — a difference 
in our ways, in our language, in our ideas, our manner of 
thinking and acting, that sets you up above me in a way I 
should not like in any other man. As you did so much 
for me when a boy, sir, and carried me through to the bar 
on your shoulders, as it might be, I shall always look up 
to you ; though I must say that I do not always like even 
your superiority.” 

“ I should be sorry, Timms, if I ever so far forget my own 
great defects, as to parade unfeelingly any little advantages 
I may happen to possess over you, or over any other man, 
in consequence of the accidents of birth and education.” 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


10? 


“You do not parade them unfeelingly, sir; you do not 
parade them at all. Still, they will show themselves ; and 
they are just the things I do not like to look at. Now, 
what is true of me, is true of all my neighbors. We call 
anything aristocracy that is a touch above us, let it be 
what it may. I sometimes think Squire Dunscoinb is a 
sort of an aristocrat in the law ! Now, as for our client, she 
has a hundred ways with her that are not the ways of Dukes, 
unless you go among the tip-toppers.” 

“The Upper Ten — -r-” 

“ Pshaw ! I know better than that myself, squire. Their 
Upper Ten should be upper one, or two, to be common 
sense. Rude and untaught as I was until you took me by 
the hand, sir, I can tell the difference between those who 
wear kids, and ride in their coaches, and those who are fit 
for either. Our client has none of this, sir ; and that it is 
which surprises me. She has no Union Place, or Fifth 
Avenue, about her, but is the true coin. There is one 
thing in particular that I’m afraid may do her harm.” 

“ It is the true coin which usually passes with the least 
trouble from hand to hand. But w T hat is this particular 
source of uneasiness?” 

“Why, the client has a lady friend ” 

A little exclamation from Dunscomb caused the speaker 
to pause, while the , counsellor removed the cigar from his 
mouth, . knocked off its ashes, and appeared to ponder 
for a moment, touching the best manner of treating a 
somewhat delicate subject. At length, native frankness 
overcame all scruples, and he spoke plainly, or as the 
familiar instructor might be expected to address a very 
green pupil. 

“ If you love me, Timms, never repeat that diabolical 
phrase again,” said Dunscomb, looking quite serious, how- 
ever much there might have been of affectation in his as-, 
pect. “It is even worse than Hurlgate, which I have told 
you fifty times I cannot endure. ‘Lady friend’ is infernally 
vulgar, and I will not stand it. You may blow your nose 
with your fingers, if it give you especial satisfaction, and you 
may blow out against aristocracy as much as you please ; 
but you shall not talk to me about ‘ lady friends ’ or ‘ HurL 
gate.’ I am no dandy, but a respectable 'elderly gentleman, 
who professes to speak English, and who wishes to be 
addressed in his own language. Heaven knows what the 
country is coming to ! There is Webster, to begin with, 
cramming a Yankee dialect down our throats for good 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


108 

English ; then comes all the cant of the day, flourishing 
finical phrases, and new significations to good old homely 
words, and changing the very nature of mankind by means 
of terms. Last of all, is this infernal Code, in which the 
ideas are as bad as possible, and the terms still worse. But 
whom do you mean by your ‘lady friend'? ” 

“The French lady that has been with our client,. now, 
for a fortnight. Depend on it, she will do us no good 
when we are on. She is too aristocratic altogether.” 

Dunscomb laughed outright. Then he passed a hand 
across his brow, and seemed to muse. 

“All this is very serious,” he at length replied, “and is 
really no laughing matter. A pretty pass are we coming 
to, if the administration of the law is to be influenced by 
such things as these ! The doctrine is openly held that the 
rich shall not, ought not to, embellish their amusements at 
a cost that the poor cannot compass ; and here we have 
a member of the bar telling us a prisoner shall not have 
justice because she has a foreign maid-servant ! ” 

“A servant ! Call her anything but that, squire, if you 
wish for success! A prisoner accused of capital crimes, 
with a servant, would be certain to be condemned. Even 
the court would hardly stand that.” 

“ Timms, you are a shrewd, sagacious fellow, and are apt 
to laugh in your sleeve at follies of this nature, as I well 
know from long acquaintance ; and here you insist on 
one of the greatest of all absurdities.” 

“Things are changed in Ameriky, Mr. Dunscomb. The 
people are beginning to govern ; and when they can’t do 
it legally they do it without law. Don’t you see what the 
papers say about having operas and play-houses at the 
people’s prices, and the right to hiss ? There’s Constitu- 
tion for you ! I wonder what Kent and Blackstone would 
say to that / ” 

“ Sure enough. They would find some novel features in a 
liberty which says a man shall not set the price on the seats 
in his own theatre, and that the hissing may be done by an 
audience in the streets. The facts are, Timms, that all these 
abuses about O. P.’s, and controlling other persons’ con- 
cerns under the pretence that the public has rights where, 
as a public, it has no rights at all, come from the reaction 
of a half-way liberty in other countries. Here, where the 
people are really free, having all the power, and where no 
political right is hereditary, "the people ought, at least, to 
respect their own ordinances.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


109 

“ Do you not consider a theatre a public place, Squire 
Dunscomb ? ” 

“ In one sense it is, certainly ; but not in the sense that 
bears on this pretended power over it. The very circum- 
stance that the audience pay for their seats, makes it, in 
law as in fact, a matter of covenant. As for this new- 
fangled absurdity about its being a duty to furnish low- 
priced seats for the poor, where they may sit and look at 
pretty women because they cannot see them elsewhere, it 
is scarcely worth an argument. If the rich should demand 
that the wives and daughters of the poor should be paraded 
in the pits and galleries, for their patrician eyes to feast on, 
a pretty clamor there would be ! If the State requires 
cheap theatres, and cheap women, let the State pay for 
them, as it does for its other wants ; but, if these amuse- 
ments are to be the object of private speculations, let pri- 
vate wisdom control them. I have no respect for one-sided 
liberty, let it cant as much as it may.” 

“ Well, I don’t know, sir ; I have read some of these arti- 
cles, and they seem to me ” 

“ What — convincing ? ” 

u Perhaps not just that, squire ; but very agreeable. I’m 
not rich enough to pay for a. high place at an opera cr a 
theatre ; and it is pleasant to fancy that a poor feller can 
get one of the best seats at half-price. Now in England, 
they tell me, the public won’t stand prices they don’t like.” 

“ Individuals of the public may refuse to purchase, and 
there their rights cease. An opera, in particular, is a very ex- 
pensive amusement ; and in all countries where the rates 
of admission are low, the governments contribute to the 
expenditures. This is done from policy, to keep the peo- 
ple quiet, and possibly to help civilize them ; but if we are 
not far beyond the necessity of any such expedients, our 
institutions are nothing but a sublime mystification.” 

“It is wonderful, Squire, how many persons see the loose 
side of democracy, who have no notion of the tight! But, 
all this time, our client is in jail at Biberry, and must be 
tried next week. Has nothing been done, squire, to choke 
off the newspapers, who have something to say about her 
almost every day ? It’s quite time the other side should 
be heard.” 

"It is very extraordinary that the persons who control 
these papers should be so indifferent to the*rights of others 
as to allow such paragraphs to find a place in their col- 
umns.” 


no 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR , . 


“Indifferent ! What do they care,' so long as the jour- 
nal sells ? In our case, however, I rather suspect that a 
certain reporter has taken offence ; and when men of that 
class get offended, look out for news of the color of their 
anger. Isn’t it wonderful, Squire Dunscomb, that the peo- 
ple don’t see and feel that they are sustaining low tyrants, 
in two-thirds of their silly clamor about the liberty of the 
press ? ” 

“ Many do see it ; and I think this engine has lost a great 
deal of its influence within the last few years. As respects 
proceedings in the courts, there never will be any true lib- 
erty in the country, until the newspapers are bound hand 
and foot.” 

“You are right enough in one thing, squire, and that is 
in the ground the press has lost. It has pretty much used 
itself up in Dukes ; and I would pillow and horse-shed a 
cause through against it, the best day it ever saw !” 

By the way, Timms, you have not explained the pillow- 
ing process to me.” 

“ I should think the word itself would do that, sir. You 
know how it is in the country. Half a dozen beds are put 
in the same room, and two in a bed. Waal, imagine three 
or four jurors in one of these, rooms, and two chaps along 
with ’em, with instructions how to talk. The conversation 
is the most innocent and nat’ral in the world ; not a word 
too much or too little ; but it sticks like a burr. The juror 
is a plain, simple-minded countryman, and swallows all that 
his room-mates say, and goes into the box next day in a 
beautiful frame of mind to listen to reason and evidence ! 
No, no ; give me two or three of these pillow-counsellors, 
and I’ll -undo all that the journals can do, in a single con- 
versation. You’ll remember, squire, that we get the last 
word by this system ; and if the first blow is half the battle 
in war, the last word is another half in the law. Oh ! it’s 
a beautiful business, is this trial by jury ! ” 

“ All this is very wrong, Timms. For a long time I have 
known that you have, exercised an extraordinary influence 
over the jurors of Dukes ; but this is the first occasion on 
which you have been frank enough to reveal the process.” 

“ Because this is the first occasion on which we have ever 
had a capital case together. In the present state of pub- 
lic opinion, in Dukes, I much question whether we .can get 
a jury impanelled in this trial at all.” 

“ The Supreme Court will then send us to town, by way 
of mending the matter. Apropos, Timms ” 


THE WAVS OF THE HOUR . 


Ill 


“ One word, if you please, squire ; what does a propos 
really mean ? I hear it almost every day, but never yet 
knew the meaning.” 

“It has shades of difference in its signification — as I just 
used it, it means ‘ speaking of that.' ” 

“ And is it right to say a propos to such a thing ? ” 

“It is better to say a propos of, as the French do. In old 
English, it was always to; but in our later mode of speak- 
ing, we say ‘ of.’' ” 

“ Thank you, sir. You know how I glean my knowledge 
in driblets ; and out in the country not always from the 
highest authorities. Plain and uncouth as I know I appear 
to you, and to Miss Sarah, I have an ambition to be a gen- 
tleman. Now I have observation enough to see that it is 
these little matters, after all, and not riches and fine clothes, 
that make gentlemen and ladies.” 

“ I am glad you have so much discrimination, Timms ; 
but, you must permit me to remark, that you will never 
make a gentleman until you learn to let your nose alone.” 

“ Thank you, sir — I am thankful for even the smallest 
hints on manners. It’s a pity that so handsome and so 
agreeable a young lady should be hanged, Mr. Dunscomb ! ” 

“ Timms, you are as shrewd a fellow in your own way, 
as I know. Your law does not amount to any great mat- 
ter, nor do you take hold of the strong points of a case 
very often ; but you perform wonders with the weaker. In 
the way of an opinion on facts, I know few men more to 
be relied on. Tell me, then, frankly, what do you think 
of the guilt or innocence of Mary Monson ?” 

Timms screwed up his mouth, passed a hand over his 
brow, and did not answer for near a minute. 

“ Perhaps it is right, after all, that we should understand 
each other on this subject,” he then said. “We are asso- 
ciated as counsel, and I feel it a great honor to be so as- 
sociated, Squire Dunscomb, I give you my word ; and it is 
proper that we should be as free with each other as broth- 
ers. In the first place, then, I never saw such a client be- 
fore, as this same lady — fordady I suppose we must call 
her until she is convicted ” 

“Convicted! You cannot think there is much danger 
of that , Timms ? ” 

“ We never know, sir ; we never know. I have lost cases 
of which I was sure, and gained them of which I had no 
hopes — cases which I certainly ought not to have gained 
— ag’in all law and the facts.” 


112 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Ay, that came of the horse-shed, and the sleeping of 
two in a bed.” 

“ Perhaps it did, squire,” returned Timms, laughing very 
freely, though without making any noise ; “ perhaps it did. 
When the small-pox is about, there is no telling who may 
take it. As for this case, Squire Dunscomb, it is my opinion 
we shall have to run for disagreements. If we can get the 
juries to disagree once or twice, and can get a change of 
venue , with a couple of charges, the deuce is in it if a man 
of your experience don’t corner them so tightly, they’ll 
give the matter up, rather than have any more trouble 
about it. After all, the State can’t gain much by hanging 
a young woman that nobody knows, even if she be a little 
aristocratical. tVe must get her to change her dress alto- 
gether, and some of her ways too ; which, in her circum- 
stances, I call downright hanging ways ; and the sooner 
she is rid of them, the better.” 

“ I see that you do not think us very strong on the mer- 
its, Timms, which is as much as admitting the guilt of our 
client. I was a good deal inclined to suspect the worst 
myself ; but two or three more interviews, and what my 
nephew Jack Wilmeter tells me, have produced a change. 
I am now strongly inclined to believe her innocent. She 
has some great and secret cause of apprehension, I will 
allow ; but I do not think these unfortunate Goodwins 
have anything to do w T ith it.” 

“Waal, one never knows. The verdict, if ‘not guilty,’ 
wall be just as good as if she was as innocent as a child 
a year old. I see how the work is to be done. All the 
law, and the summing up, will fall to your share ; while 
the out-door work will be mine. We may carry her 
through — though I’m of opinion that, if we do, it will 
be more by means of bottom than by means of foot. 
There is one thing that is very essential, sir — the money 
must hold out.” 

“ Do you want a refresher so soon, Timms ? Jack tells 
me that she has given you two hundred and fifty dollars 
already!” 

“ I acknowledge it, sir ; and a very respectable fee it is 
— you ought to have a thousand, squire.” 

“ I have not received a cent, nor do I mean to touch any 
of her money. My feelings are in the case, and I am will- 
ing to work for nothing.” 

Timms gave his old master a quick but scrutinizing 
glance. Dunscomb was youthful, in all respects, for his 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


113 

time of life ; and many a man has loved, and married, and 
become the parent of a flourishing family, who had seen 
all the days he had seen. That glance was to inquire if it 
were possible that the uncle and nephew were likely to be 
rivals, and to obtain as much knowledge as could be readily 
gleaned in a quick, jealous look. But the counsellor was 
calm as usual, and no tinge of color, no sigh, no gentle- 
ness of expression, betrayed the existence of the master 
passion. It was reported among the bachelor’s intimates 
that formerly, when he was about five-and-twenty, he had 
had an affair of the heart, which had taken such deep hold 
that even the lady’s marriage with another man had not 
destroyed its impression. That marriage was said not to 
have been happy, and was succeeded by a second, that was 
still less so ; though the parties were affluent, educated, 
and possessed all the means that are commonly supposed 
to produce felicity. A single child was the issue of the 
first marriage, and its birth had shortly preceded the sep- 
aration that followed. Three years later the father died, 
leaving the whole of a very ample fortune to this child, 
coupled with the strange request that Dunscomb, once the 
betrothed of her mother, should be the trustee and guar- 
dian of the daughter. This extraordinary demand had not 
been complied with, and Dunscomb had not seen any of 
the parties from the time he broke with his mistress. The 
heiress married young, died within the year, and left an- 
other heiress ; but no further allusion to our counsellor 
was made in any of the later wills and settlements. Once, 
indeed, he had been professionally consulted concerning 
the devises in favor of the granddaughter — a certain Mil- 
dred Millington— who was a second cousin to Michael of 
that name, and as rich as he was poor. For some years, 
a soil of vague expectation prevailed that these two 
young Millingtons might marry ; but a feud existed in 
the family, and little or no intercourse was permitted. 
The early removal of the young lady to a distant school 
prevented such a result ; and Michael, in due time, fell 
within the influence of Sarah Wilmeter’s gentleness, beauty, 
and affection. 

Timms came to the conclusion that his old master was 
not in love. 

“ It is very convenient to be rich, squire,” this singular 
being remarked ; “and I dare say ft may be very pleasant 
to practise for nothing, when a man has his pocket full of 
money. I am poor, and have particular satisfaction in a 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


114 

good warm fee. By the way, sir, my part of the business 
requires plenty of money. I do not think I can even com- 
mence operations with less than five hundred dollars.” 

Dunscomb leaned back, stretched forth an arm, drew 
his check-book from its niche, and filled a check for the 
sum just mentioned. This he quietly handed to Timms, 
without asking for any receipt ; for, while he knew that 
his old student and fellow-practitioner was no more to be 
trusted in matters of practice than was an eel in the hand, 
he knew that he was scrupulously honest in matters of ac- 
count. There was not a man in the State to whom Duns- 
comb would sooner confide the care of uncounted gold, 
or the administration of an estate, or the payment of a 
legacy, than this very individual, who, he also well knew, 
would not scruple to set all the provisions of the law at 
naught, in order to obtain a verdict, when his feelings 
were really in the case. 

“There, Timms,” said the senior counsel, glancing at his 
draft before he handed it to the other, in order to see that 
it was correct ; “ there is what you ask for. Five hundred 
for expenses, and half as much as a fee.” 

“Thank you, sir. I hope this is not gratuitous, as well 
as the services ? ” 

“ It is not. There is no want of funds, and I am put in 
possession of sufficient money to carry us through with 
credit ; but it is as a trustee, and not as a fee. This, in- 
deed, is the most extraordinary part of the whole affair ; 
to find a delicate, educated, accomplished lady, with her 
pockets well lined, in such a situation ! ” 

“ Why, squire,” said Timms, passing his hand down his 
chin, and trying to look simple and disinterested, “ I am 
afraid clients like ours are often flush. I have been em- 
ployed about the Tombs a good deal in my time, and 
I Have gin’rally found that the richest clients were the 
biggest rogues.” 

Dunscomb gave his companion a long and contemplative 
look. He saw that Timms did not entertain quite as favor- 
able an opinion of Mary Monson as he did himself, or 
rather that he was fast getting to entertain ; for his own 
distrust originally was scarcely less than that of this hack- 
neyed dealer with human vices. A long, close and strin- 
gent examination of all of Timms’s facts succeeded — facts 
that had been gleaned by collecting statements on the 
spot. Then a consultation followed, from which it might 
be a little premature, just now, to raise the veil. 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


* s 5 


CHAPTER IX. 

Her speech is nothing, 

Yet the unshaped use of it doth move 
The hearers to collection. They aim at it, 

And botch the words, up fit to their own thoughts. — Hamlet . 

The reader is not to be surprised at the intimacy which 
existed between Thomas Dunscomb and the half-educated 
semi-rude being who was associated with him as counsel 
in the important cause that was now soon to be tried. 
Such intimacies are by no means uncommon in the course 
of events ; men often overlooking great dissimilarities, in 
principles, as well as in personal qualities, in managing 
their associations, so far as they are connected with the 
affairs of this world. The circumstance that Timms had 
studied in our counsellor’s office would, as a matter of 
course, produce certain relations between them in after- 
life ; but the student had made himself usefid to his former 
master on a great variety of occasions, and was frequently 
employed by him whenever there was a cause depending 
in the courts of Dukes, the county in which the unpolished, 
half-educated, but hard-working and successful county 
practitioner had established himself. It may be questioned 
if Dunscomb really knew all the agencies set in motion by 
his coadjutor in difficult cases ; but, whether he did or not, 
it is quite certain that many of them were of a character 
not to see the light. It is very much the fashion of our 
good republic to turn up its nose at all other lands, a habit 
no doubt inherited from our great ancestors the English ; 
and one of its standing themes of reproach are the legal 
corruptions and abuses known to exist in France, Spain, 
Italy, etc. ; all over the world, in short, except among our- 
selves. So far as the judges are concerned, there is a sur- 
prising adherence to duty, when bribes alone are con- 
cerned, no class of men on earth being probably less 
obnoxious to just imputations of this character than the in- 
numerable corps of judicial officers ; underpaid, poor, hard- 
worked, and we might almost add unhonored, as they are. 
That cases in which bribes afe taken do occur, we make .no 
doubt ; it would be assuming too much in favor of human 
nature to infer the contrary ; but, under the system of 
publicity that prevails, it would not be easy for this crime 


THE PVAYS OF THE HOUR. 


ii 6" 

to extend very far without its being exposed. It is greatly 
to the credit of the vast judicial corps of the States, that 
bribery is an offence which does not appear to be even 
suspected at all ; or, if there be exceptions to the rule, 
they exist in but few and isolated cases. Here, however, 
our eulogies on American justice must cease. All that 
Timms has intimated and Dunscomb has asserted concern- 
ing the juries is true ; and the evil is one that each day 
increases. The tendency of everything belonging to the 
government is to throw power directly into the hands of 
the people, who, in nearly all cases, use it as men might 
be supposed to do who are perfectly irresponsible, have 
only a remote, and half tire time an' invisible interest in its 
exercise ; who do not feel or understand the consequences 
of their own deeds, and have a pleasure in asserting a 
seeming independence; and of appearing to think and act 
for themselves. Under such a regime it is self-apparent 
that principles and law must suffer; and so the result 
proves daily, if not hourly. The institution of the jury, 
one of very questionable utility in its best aspects in a 
country of really popular institutions, becomes nearly in- 
tolerable, unless the courts exercise a strong and salutary 
influence on the discharge of its duties. This influence, 
unhappily, has been gradually lessening among us for the 
last half century, until it has reached a point where noth- 
ing is more common than to find the judge charging the 
law one way, and the jury determining it another. In most 
cases, it is true, there is a remedy for this abuse of power, 
but it is costly, and ever attended with that delay in hope 
“which maketh the heart sick.” Any one, of even the 
dullest apprehension, must, on a little reflection, perceive 
that a condition of things in which the ends of justice are 
defeated, or so procrastinated as to produce the results of 
defeat, is one of the least desirable of all those in which 
men can be placed under the social compact ; to say noth- 
ing of its corrupting and demoralizing effects on the* public 
mind. 

All this Dunscomb saw, more vividly, perhaps, than most 
others of the profession, for men gradually get to be so 
accustomed to abuses as not only to tolerate them, but to 
come to consider them as evils inseparable from human 
frailty. It was certain, however, that while our worthy 
counsellor so far submitted to the force of things as fre- 
quently to close his eyes to Timms’s manoeuvres, a weakness 
of which nearly every one is guilty who has much to do 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


ii 7 

with the management of men and things, he was never 
known to do aught himself that was unworthy of his high 
standing and well-merited reputation at the' bar. There 
is nothing unusual in this convenient compromise be- 
tween direct and indirect relations with that which is 
wrong. 

It had early been found necessary to employ local coun- 
sel in Mary Monson’s case, and Timms was recommended 
by his old master as one every way suited to the particular 
offices needed. Most of the duties to be performed were 
strictly legal ; though it is not to be concealed that some 
soon presented themselves that would not bear the light. 
John Wilmeter communicated to Timms the particular 
state of the testimony, as he and Michael Millington had 
been enabled to get at it ; and among other things he stated 
his conviction that the occupants of the farm nearest to the 
late dwelling of the Goodwins were likely to prove some 
of the most dangerous of the witnesses against their client. 
This family consisted of a sister-in-law, the Mrs. Burton 
already mentioned, three unmarried sisters, and a brother, 
who was the husband of the person first named. On this 
hint Timms immediately put himself in communication 
with these neighbors, concealing from them, as well as 
from all others but good Mrs. Gott, that he was retained 
in the case at all. 

Timms was soon struck with the hints and half-revealed 
statements of the persons of this household ; more espe- 
cially with those of the female portion of it. The man ap- 
peared to him to have observed less than his wife and 
sisters ; but even he had much to relate, though, as Timms 
fancied, more that he had gleaned from those around him, 
than from his own observation's. The sisters, however, had 
a good deal to say ; while the wife, though silent and 
guarded, seemed to this observer, as well as to young Mill- 
ington, to know the most. When pressed to tell all, Mrs. 
Burton looked melancholy and reluctant, frequently re- 
turning to the subject of her own accord when it had been 
casually dropped, but never speaking explicitly, though 
often invited so to do. It was not the cue of the counsel 
for the defence to drag out unfavorable evidence ; and 
Timms employed certain confidential agents, whom he 
often used in the management of his causes, to sift this 
testimony as well as it could be done without the constrain- 
ing power of the law. The result was not very satisfactory, 
in any sense, more appearing to be suppressed than was 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


118 

related. It was fearfcd that the legal officers of the State 
would meet with better success. 

The investigations of the junior counsel did not end 
here. He saw that the public sentiment was setting in a 
current so strongly against Mary Monson, that he soon de- 
termined to counteract it, as well as might be, by produc- 
ing a reaction. This is a very common, not to say a very 
powerful agent, in the management of all interests that are 
subject to popular opinion, in a democracy. Even the ap- 
plicant for public favor is none the worse for beginning his 
advances by “a little aversion,” provided he can contrive 
to make the premeditated change in his favor take the 
aspect of a reaction. It may not be so easy to account for 
this caprice of the common mind, as it is certain that it 
exists. Perhaps we like to yield to a seeming generosity, 
have a pleasure in appearing to pardon, find a consolation 
for our own secret consciousness of errors, in thus extend- 
ing favor to the errors of others, and have more satisfac- 
tion in preferring those who are fallible, than in exalting 
the truly upright and immaculate ; if, indeed, any such 
there be. Let the cause be what it may, we think the 
facts to be beyond dispute ; and so thought Timms also, 
for he no sooner resolved to counteract one public opinion 
by means of another, than he set about the task with cool- 
ness and intelligence — in short, with a mixture of all the 
good and bad qualities of the man. 

The first of his measures was to counteract, as much as 
he could, the effects of certain paragraphs that had ap- 
peared in some of the New York journals. A man of 
Timms’s native shrewdness had no difficulty in compre- 
hending the more vulgar moral machinery of a daily press. 
Notwithstanding its “ we’s,” and its pretension to repre- 
sent public opinion, and to protect the common interests, 
he thoroughly understood it was merely one mode of ad- 
vancing the particular views, sustaining the personal 
schemes, and not unfrequently of gratifying the low ma- 
lignity of a single individual ; the press in America differ- 
ing from that of nearly all other countries in the fact that 
it is not controlled by associations, and does not reflect the 
decisions of many minds, or contend for principles that, by 
their very character, have a tendency to elevate the 
thoughts. There are some immaterial exceptions as relates 
to the latter characteristic; perhaps, principally growing 
out of -the great extra-constitutional question of slavery, 
that has quite unnecessarily been drawn into the discus- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


119 

sions of the times through the excited warmth of zealots ; 
but, as a rule, the exciting political questions that else- 
where compose the great theme of the newspapers, enlarg- 
ing their views, and elevating their articles, maybe regard- 
ed as settled among ourselves. In the particular case with 
which Timms was now required to deal, there was neither 
favor nor malice to counteract. The injustice, and a most 
cruel injustice it was, was merely in catering to a morbid 
desire for the marvellous in the vulgar, which might thus 
be turned to profit. 

Among the reporters there exists the same diversity of 
qualities as among other men, beyond a question ; but the 
tendency of the use of all power is to abuse ; and Timms 
was perfectly aware that these men had far more pride in 
the influence they wielded, than conscience in its exercise. 
A ten- or a twenty-dollar note, judiciously applied, would 
do a great deal with this “ Palladium of our Liberties,” 
there being at least a dozen of these important safeguards 
interested in the coming trial — our associate counsel very 
well knew ; and Dunscomb suspected that some such ap- 
plication of the great persuader had been made, in conse- 
quence of one or two judicious and well-turned paragraphs 
that appeared soon after the consultation. But Timms’s 
management of the press was mainly directed to that of 
the county newspapers. There were three of these ; and 
as they had better characters than most of the Manhat- 
tanese journals, so were they more confided in. It is true, 
that the Whig readers never heeded in the least anything 
that was said in The Dukes County De?nocrat ; but the 
friends of the last took their revenge in discrediting all 
that appeared in the columns of the Bibei'ry Whig . In 
this respect, the two great parties of the country were on a 
par ; each manifesting a faith, that, in a better cause, might 
suffice to move mountains ; and, on the other hand, an un- 
belief that drove them into the dangerous folly of disre- 
garding their foes. As Mary Monson had nothing to do 
with politics, it was not difficult to get suitable paragraphs 
inserted in the hostile columns, which was also done within 
eight-and-forty hours after the return of the junior coun- 
sel to his own abode. 

Timms, however, was far from trusting to the newspapers 
alone. He felt that it might be well enough to set “ fire 
to fight fire but his main reliance was on the services 
that^could be rendered by a timely and judicious use of 
“the little member.” Talkers was what he wanted ; and 


120 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


well did he know where to find them, and how to get them 
at work. A few he paid in a direct, business-like way; 
taking no vouchers for the sums bestowed, the reader may 
be assured, but entering each item carefully in a little 
memorandum-book kept for his own private information. 
These strictly confidential agents went to work with ex- 
perienced discretion but great industry, and soon had some 
ten or fifteen fluent female friends actively engaged in 
circulating “ They says," in their respective neighborhoods. 

Timms had reflected a great deal on the character of the 
defence it might be most prudent to get up and enlarge 
on. Insanity had been worn out by too much use of late ; 
and he scarce gave that plea a second thought. This par- 
ticular means of defence had been discussed between him 
and Dunscomb, it is true ; but each of the counsel felt a 
strong repugnance against resorting to it ; the one on ac- 
count of his indisposition to rely on anything but the 
truth ; the other, to use his own mode of expressing 
himself on the occasion in question, because he “ believed 
that jurors could no longer be humbugged with that plea. 
There have been all sorts of madmen and mad-women ” 

“Gentlemen and lady murderers ” — put in Dunscomb, 
dryly. 

“I ask your pardon, squire ; but, since you give me the 
use of my nose, I will offend as little as possible with the 
tongue — though, I ratherconclude — -a form of expression 
much in favor with Timms — “ that should our verdict be 
‘ guilty,’ you will be disposed to allow there may be one 
lady criminal in the world.” 

“She is a most extraordinary creature, Timms ; bothers 
me more than any client I ever had ! ” 

“Indeed! Waal, I had set her down as just the con- 
trary — for to me she seems to be as unconcerned as if the 
wise four-and-twenty had not presented her to justice in 
the name of the people.” 

“ It is not in that sense that I am bothered — no client 
ever gave counsel less trouble than Mary Monson in that 
respect. To me, Timms, she does not appear to have any 
concern in reference to the result.” 

“ Supreme innocence, or a well-practised experience. I 
have defended many a person whom I knew to be guilty, 
and two or three whom I believed to be innocent ; but 
never befoje had as cool a client as this ! ” 

And very true was this. Even the announcement of the 
presentment by the grand jury appeared to give Mary 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


12 1 


Monson no great alarm. Perhaps she anticipated it from 
the first, and had prepared herself for the event, by an ex- 
ercise of a firmness little common to her sex until the 
moments of extreme trial, when their courage would seem 
to rise with the occasion. On her companion, whom 
Timms had so elegantly styled her ‘ Lady Friend,’ certainly 
as thoroughly vulgar an expression as was ever drawn into 
the service of the heroics in gentility, warm-hearted and 
faithful Marie Moulin, the intelligence produced far more 
effect It will be remembered that Wilmeter overheard 
the single cry of “Mademoiselle” when this Swiss was 
first admitted to the jail ; after which an impenetrable veil 
closed around their proceedings. The utmost good feel- 
ing and confidence were apparent in the intercourse be- 
tween the young mistress and her maid ; if, indeed, Marie 
might thus be termed, after the manner in which she was 
treated. So far from being kept at the distance which it is 
usual to observe toward an attendant, the Swiss was admit- 
ted to Mary Monson’s table ; and to the eyes of indifferent 
observers she might very well pass for what Timms had so 
elegantly called a “ lady friend.” But Jack Wilmeter knew 
too much of the world to be so easily misled. It is true, 
that when he paid his short visits to the jail,, Marie Moulin 
sat sewing at the prisoner’s side, and occasionally she even 
hummed low’, national airs w 7 hile he was present ; but 
knowing the original condition of the maid-servant, our 
young man was not to be persuaded that his uncle’s client 
was her peer, any more than were the jurors who, agree- 
ably to that profound mystification of the common law, are 
thus considered and termed. Had not Jack Wilmeter 
known the real position of Marie Moulin, her “mademoi- 
selle ” would have let him deeper into the secrets of the 
two than it is probable either ever imagined. This word, 
in common w r ith those of “monsieur” and “ madame,” are 
used, by French servants, differently from w’hat they are 
used in general society. Unaccompanied by the names, 
the domestics of France commonly and exclusively apply 
them to the heads of families, or those they .more imme- 
diately serve. Thus, it was far more probable that Marie 
Moulin, meeting a mere general acquaintance in the pris- 
oner, w 7 ould have called her “ Mademoiselle Marie,” or 
“Mademoiselle Monson,” or whatever might be the name 
by whiclr she had knowm the young lady, than by the gen- 
eral and still more respectful appellation of “ mademoi- 
selle.” On this peculiarity of deportment Jack Wilmeter 


122 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


speculated profoundly ; for a young man who is just be- 
ginning to submit to the passion of love is very apt to 
fancy a thousand things that he would never dream of see- 
ing in his cooler moments. Still, John had fancied him- 
self bound in the spells of another, until this extraordinary 
client of his uncle’s so unexpectedly crossed his path. 
Such is the human heart. 

Good and kind-hearted Mrs. Gott allowed the prisoner 
most of the privileges that at all comported with her duty. 
Increased precautions were taken for the security of the 
accused, as soon as the presentment of the grand jury was 
made, by a direct order from the court ; but, these attend- 
ed to, it was in the power of her whom Timms might have 
called the “ lady sheriff, ”to grant a great many indulgences, 
which were quite cheerfully accorded, and, to all appear- 
ances, as gratefully accepted. 

John Wilmeter was permitted to pay two regular visits 
at the grate each day, and as many more as his ingenuity 
could invent plausible excuses for making. On all ac- 
casions Mrs. Gott opened the outer door with the greatest 
good will ; and, like a true woman as she is, she had the 
tact to keep as far aloof from the barred window where 
the parties met;, as the dimensions of the Outer room would 
allow. Marie Moulin was equally considerate, generally 
plying her needle at such times, in the depth of the cell, 
with twice the industry manifested on other occasions. 
Nevertheless, nothing passed between the young people 
that called for this delicate reserve. The conversation, it 
is true, turned as little as possible on the strange and awk- 
ward predicament of one of the colloquists, or the employ- 
ment that kept the young man at Biberry. Nor did it 
turn at all on love. There is a premonitory state in these 
attacks of the heart, during which skilful observers may 
discover the symptoms of approaching disease, but which 
do not yet betray the actual existence of the epidemic. On 
the part of Jack himself, it is true that these symptoms 
were getting to be not only somewhat apparent, but they 
were evidently fast becoming more and more distinct ; 
while, on the part of the lady, any one disposed to be crit- 
ical might have seen that her color deepened, and there 
were signs of daily increasing interest in them, as the 
hours for these interviews approached. She was interest- 
ed in her young legal adviser ; and interest, with women, 
is the usual precursor of the master-passion. Woe betide 
the man who cannot interest, but who only amuses ! 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


123 


Although so little to the point was said in the short dia- 
logues between Wilmeter and Mary Monson, there were 
dialogues held with the good Mrs. Gott, by each of the 
parties respectively, in which less reserve was observed ; 
and the heart was permitted to have more influence over 
the movements of the tongue. The first of these conver- 
sations that we deem it necessary to relate, that took place 
after the presentment, was one that immediately succeeded 
an interview at the barredwvindow, and which occurred 
three days, subsequently to the consultation in town ; and 
two after ..Tim iris’s machinery was actively at work in the 
county. 

“ Well, how do you find her spirits to-day, Mr. Wilming- 
ton ?” asked Mrs. Gott, kindly, and catching the conven- 
tional sound. of the young man’s name, from having heard 
it so often in the mouth of Michael Millington. “ It is an 
awful state for any human being- to be in, and she a young, 
delicate woman ; to.be tried for murder, and for setting 
fire to a house, and all so soon ! ” 

“The most extraordinary part of this very extraordinary 
business, Mrs. Gott,” Jack replied, “ is the perfect indif- 
ference of. Miss Monson to her fearful jeopardy ! To me, 
she seems much more anxious to be closely immured in 
jail, than to escape from a trial that, one would think, of 
itself, might prove more than so delicate a young lady 
could bear up against.” 

“Very true, Mr. Wilmington and she never seems to 
think of it at all ! You see what she has done, sir?” 

.“ Done ! Nothing in particular, I hope ? ” 

“I don’t know what you call particular; but to me it 
does seem to be remarkably particular. Didn’t you hear 
a piano, and another musical instrument, as you ap- 
proached the jail ? ” 

“ I did, certainly, and wondered who could produce 
such admirable music in Biberry.” 

“ Biberry has a great many musical ladies, I can tell you, 
Mr. Wilmington,” returned Mrs. Gott, a little coldly, 
though her good-nature instantly returned, and shone out 
in one. of her most friendly smiles ; “and those, too, that 
have been to town and heard all the great performers from 
Europe, of whom there have been so many of late years. 
I have heard good judges say that Dukes County is not 
much behind the island of Manhattan, with the piano in 
particular.” 

“ I remember when at Rome to have heard an English- 


124 


THE W AYS OF THE HOUR. 


man say that some young ladies from Lincolnshire were 
-astonishing the Romans with their Italian accent, in sing- 
ing Italian operas,” answered Jack, smiling. “There is 
no end, my dear Mrs. Gott, to provincial perfection in all 
parts of the world.” 

“ I believe I understand you, but I am not at all offended 
at your meaning. We are not very sensitive about the 
jails. One thing I will admit, however ; Mary Monson’s 
harp is the first, I rather think, that was ever heard in Bi- 
berry. Gott tells me ” — this was the familiar manner in 
which the good woman spoke of the high sheriff of Dukes, 
as the journals affectedly call that functionary — “ that he 
once met some German girls strolling about the country, 
playing and singing for money, and who had just such an 
instrument, but not one-half as elegant ; and it has brought 
to my mind a suspicion that Mary Monson may be one of 
these travelling musicians.” 

“ What ? to stroll about the country, and play and sing 
in the streets of villages ! ” 

“ No, not that ; I see well enough she cannot be of that 
sort. But there are all descriptions of musicians, as well 
as all descriptions of doctors and lawyers, Mr. Wilmington. 
Why may not Mary Monson be one of these foreigners 
who get so rich by singing and playing? She has just as 
much money as she wants, and spends it freely too. This 
I know, from seeing the manner in which she uses it. For 
my part, I wish she had less music and less money just 
now ; for they are doing her no great good in Biberry ! ” 

“Why not ? Can any human being find fault with mel- 
ody and a liberal spirit ? ” 

“ Folks will find fault with anything, Mr. Wilmington, 
when they, have nothing better to do. You know how it 
is with our villagers here, as well as I do. Most people 
think Mary Monson guilty, and a few do not. Those that 
think her guilty say it is insolent in her to be singing and 
playing in the very jail in which she is confined ; and talk 
loud against her for that very reason.” 

“Would they deprive her of a consolation as innocent 
as that she obtains from her harp and her piano, in addi- 
tion to her other sufferings ? Your Biberry folks must be 
particularly hard-hearted, Mrs. Gott.” 

“ Biberry people are like York people, and American 
people, and English people, and all other people, I fancy, 
if the truth was known, Mr. Wilmington. What they don’t 
like they disapprove of, that’s all. Now, was I one of 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 




them that believe Mary Monson did actually murder the 
Goodwins, and plunder their drawers, and set fire to their 
house, it would go ag’in my feelings too, to hear her music, 
well as she plays, and sweet as. she draws out the sounds 
from those wires. Some of our folks take the introduction 
of the harp into the jail particularly hard ! ” 

“Why that instrument more than another? It was the 
one on which David played.” 

“ They say it was David’s favorite, and ought only to be 
struck to religious words and sounds.” 

“It is a little surprising that your excessively conscien- 
tious people so often forget that charity is the chiefest of 
all the Christian graces.” 

“They think that the love of God comes first, and that 
they ought never to lose sight of his honor and 'glory. But 
I agree with you, Mr. Wilmington ; ‘feel for your fellow- 
creatures’ is my rule; and I’m certain I am then feeling 
for my Maker. Yes ; many of the neighbors insist that a 
harp is unsuited to a jail, and they tell me that the instru- 
ment on which Mary Monson plays is a real antique.” 

“Antique ! What, a harp made in remote ages ?” 

“No, I don’t mean that exactly,” returned Mrs. Gott, 
coloring a little; “but a harp made so much like those 
used by the Psalmist, that one could not tell them 
apart.” 

“ I dare say David had many varieties of stringed instru- 
ments, from the lute up; but harps are very common, Mrs. 
Gott — so common that we hear them nowin the streets, 
and on board the steam-boats even. There is nothing new 
in them, even in this country.” 

“Yes, sir, in the streets and on board the boats ; but the 
public will tolerate things done for them , that they won’t 
tolerate in individuals. I suppose you know that , Mr. Wil- 
mington ? ” 

“ We soon learn as much in this country — but the jails 
are made for the public, and the harps ought to be privi- 
leged in them, as well as in other public places.” 

“ I don’t know how it is — I’m not very goad at reasoning 
— but, somehow or another, the neighbors don’t like that 
Mary Monson should play on the harp or even on the 
piano, situated as she is. I do wish, Mr. Wilmington, you 
could give her a hint on the subject.” 

“Shall I tell her that the music is unpleasant to you 9 19 

“As far from that as possible ! I delight in it ; but the 
neighbors do not. Then she never shows herself at the 


126 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


grate to folks outside, like all the other prisoners. The 
public wants to see and converse with her.” 

“You surely could not expect a young and educated 
female to be making a spectacle of herself, for the gratifi- 
_ cation of the eyes of all the vulgar and curious in and about 
Biberry? ” 

“ Hush-^Mr. Wilmington, youare most too young to take 
care of such a cause. Squire Timms, now, is a man who 
understands Dukes County, and he would tell you it is not 
wise to talk of the vulgar hereabouts ; at least, not until 
the verdict is in. Besides, most people would think that 
folks have a right to look at a prisoner in the common jail. 
I know they act as if they thought so.” 

“ It is hard enough to be accused and confined, without 
subjecting the party to any additional degradation. No 
man has a right to ask to look at Miss Monson but those 
she sees fit to receive, and the officials of the law. It would 
be an outrage to tolerate mere idle curiosity.” 

' “Well, if you think so, Mr. Wilmington, do not let every- 
body know it. Several of the clergy have either been here, 
or have sent to offer their visits, if acceptable.” 

“And what h&s been the answer?” demanded Jack, a 
little eagerly. 

“ Mary Monson has received all these offers as if she had 
been a queen — politely, but coldly ; once or twice, or when 
the Methodist, and the Baptist came, and they commonly 
come first, I thought she seemed hurt. Her color went 
and came like lightning. Now, she was pale as death^- 
next, as bright as a rose — what a color she has at times, 
Mr. Wilmington ! Dukes is rather celebrated for rosy 
faces ; but it would be hard to find her equal when she is 
not thinking.” 

“ Of what, my good Mrs. Gott ?” 

“Why, most of the neighbors say, of the Goodwins. 
For my part, as I do not believe she ever hurt a hair of the 
head of the old man and old woman, I can imagine that 
she has disagreeable things to think of that are in nowise 
connected with them." 

“ She certainly has disagreeable things to make her 
cheeks pale that are connected with that unfortunate 
couple. But, I ought to know all. To what else do the 
neighbors object ? ” 

“To the foreign tongues — they think when a grand jury 
has found a bill, the accused ought to talk nothing but plain 
English, so that all near her can understand what she says.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


127 


“ In a word, it is not thought sufficient to be accused of 
such a crime as murder, but all other visitations must fol- 
low, to render the charge as horrible as may be ! ” 

“That is not the way they look at it. The public fancies 
that in a public matter they might have a right to know 
all about a thing.” 

“And when there is a failure in the proof, they imagine, 
invent, and assert.” 

“ ’Tis the ways of the land. I suppose all nations have 
their ways, and follow them.” 

“One thing surprises me a little in this matter,” Jack 
rejoined, after musing a moment ; “ it is this. In most 
cases in which women have any connection with the law, 
the leaning in this country, and more particularly of late, 
has been in their favor.” 

“Well,” Mrs. Gott quietly but quickly interrupted, “and 
ought it not to be so ? ” 

“ It ought not, unless the merits are with them. Justice 
is intended to do that which is equitable ; and it is not fair 
to assume that women are always right, and men always 
wrong. I know my uncle thinks that not only the decis- 
ions of late years, but the laws, have lqst sight of the 
wisdom of the past, and are gradually placing the women 
above the men, making her instead of him the head of the 
family.” 

“Well, Mr. Wilmington, and isn’t that quite right?” de- 
manded Mrs. Gott, with a good-natured nod. 

“ My uncle thinks it very wrong, and that by a mistaken 
gallantry the peace of families is undermined, and their 
discipline destroyed ; as, in punishment, by a false phil- 
anthropy, rogues are petted at the expense of honest 
folks. Such are the opinions of Mr. Thomas Dunscomb, 
at least.” 

“Ay, Mr. Thomas Dunscomb is an old bachelor ; and 
bachelors’ wives, and bachelors’ children, as we well know, 
are always admirably managed. It is a pity they are not 
more numerous,” retorted the indomitably good-humored 
wife of the sheriff. “ But, you see that, in this case of 
Mary Monson, the feeling is against, rather than in favor 
of a woman. That may be owing to the fact that one of 
the persons murdered was a lady also.” 

“ Doctor McBrain says that both were females — or lady- 
murdered — as I suppose we must call them ; as doubtless 
you have heard, Mrs. Gott. Perhaps he is believed, and 
the fact may make doubly against the accused.” 


123 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


“ He is not believed. Everybody hereabouts knows that 
one of the skeletons was that of Peter Goodwin. They say 
that the district attorney means to show that , beyond all 
dispute. They tell me that it is a law, in a case of this 
sort, first to show there has been a murder ; second, to 
show who did it.” 

“This is something like the course of proceeding, I be- 
lieve ; though I never sat on a trial for this offence. It is 
of no great moment what the district attorney does, so 
that he do not prove that Miss Monson is guilty ; and this, 
my kind-hearted Mrs. Gott, you and I do not believe he 
can do.” 

“In that we are agreed, sir. I no more think that 
Mary Monson did these things, than I think I did them 
myself.” 

Jack expressed his thanks in a most grateful look, and 
there the interview terminated. 


CHAPTER X. 

In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed ; 

In war he mounts the warrior’s steed ; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 

In : hamlets, dances on the green. 

Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, 

And men below, and saints above ; 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. — SCOTT. 

“ It is the ways of the land,” said good Mrs. Gott, in one 
of her remarks in the conversation just related. Other 
usages prevail, in connection with other interests ; and the 
time is come when we must refer to one of them. In a 
word, Dr. McBrain and Mrs. Updyke were about to be 
united in the bands of matrimony. As yet we have said 
very little of the intended bride ; but the incidents of our 
tale render it now necessary to bring her more prominent- 
ly on the stage, and to give some account of herself and 
family. 

Anna Wade was the only child of very respectable and 
somewhat affluent parents. At nineteen she married a 
lawyer of suitable years, and became Mrs. Updyke. This 
union lasted but eight years, when the wife was left a 
widow with two children ; a son and a daughter. In the 
course of time these children grew up, the mother devot- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


129 


ing herself to their care, education and well-being. In all 
this there was nothing remarkable, widowed mothers doing 
as much daily, with a self-devotion that allies them to the 
angels. Frank Updyke, the son, had finished his educa- 
tion, and was daily expected to arrive from a tour of three 
years in Europe. Anna, her mother’s namesake, was at 
the sweet age of nineteen, and the very counterpart of 
what the elder Anna had been at the same period in life. 
The intended bride was far from being unattractive, though 
fully five-and-forty. In the eyes of Dr. McBrain, she was 
even charming ; although she did not exactly answer those 
celebrated conditions of female influence that have been 
handed down to us in the familiar toast of a voluptuous 
English prince. Though forty, Mrs. Updyke was neither 
“fat” nor “fair;” being a brunette of a well-preserved 
and still agreeable person. 

It was perhaps a little singular, after having escaped the 
temptations of a widowhood of twenty years, that this lady 
should think of marrying at a time of life when most fe- 
males abandon the expectation of changing their condition. 
But Mrs. Updyke was a person of a very warm heart ; and 
she foresaw the day when she was to be left alone in the 
world. Her son was much inclined to be a rover and, in 
his letters, he talked of still longer journeys, and of more 
protracted absences from home. He inherited an indepen- 
dency from his father, and had now been his own master 
for several years. Anna was much courted by the circle 
to which she belonged ; and young, affluent, pretty to the 
very verge of beauty, gentle, quiet, and singularly 'warm- 
hearted, it was scarcely within the bounds of possibility 
that she could escape an early marriage in a state of so- 
ciety like that of Manhattan. These were the reasons 
Mrs. Updyke gave to her female confidantes, when she 
deemed it well to explain the motives of her present pur- 
pose. Without intending to deceive, there was not a word 
of truth in these explanations. In point of fact, Mrs. Up- 
dyke, well as she had loved the husband of her youth, 
preserved les beaux restes of a very warm and affectionate 
heart; and McBrain, a well-preserved, good-looking man, 
about a dozen vears older than herself, had found the 
means to awaken its sympathies to such a degree, as once 
more to place the comely widow completely within the 
category of Cupid. It is very possible for a woman of 
forty to love, and to love with all her heart ; though the 
world seldom takes as much interest in her weakness, if 


9 


i 3 o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


weakness it is, as in those of younger and fairer subjects 
of the passion. To own the truth, Mrs. Updyke was pro- 
foundly in love, while her betrothed met her inclination 
with an answering sympathy that, to say the least, was 
fully equal to any tender sentiment he had succeeded in 
awakening. 

All this was to Tom Dunscomb what he called “ nuts.” 
Three times had he seen his old friend in this pleasant 
state of feeling, and three times was he chosen to be an 
attendant at the altar : once in the recognized character of 
a groomsman, and on the other two occasions in that of a 
chosen friend. Whether the lawyer had himself completely 
escaped the darts of the little god, no one could say, so 
completely had he succeeded in veiling this portion of his 
life from observation ; but, whether he had or not, he made 
those who did submit to the passion the theme of his un- 
tiring merriment. 

Children usually regard these tardy inclinations of their 
parents with surprise, if not with downright distaste. Some 
little surprise the pretty Anna Updyke may have felt, when 
she was told by a venerable great-aunt that her mother 
was about to be married ; but of distaste there was none. 
She had a strong regard for her new step-father, that was 
to be ; and thought it the most natural thing in the world 
to love. Sooth, to say, Anna Updyke had not been out 
two years — the American girls are brought out so young! 
— without having sundry suitors. Manhattan is the easiest 
place in the world for a pretty girl, with a good fortune, 
to get offers. Pretty girls with good fortunes are usually 
in request everywhere ; but it requires the precise state 
of society that exists in the “ Great Commercial Emporium,” 
to give a young woman the highest chance in the old lot* 
tery. There where one-half of the world came from othet 
worlds some half a dozen years since ; where a good old 
Manhattan name is regarded as upstart among a crowd 
that scarcely knows whence it was itself derived, and 
whither it is destined, and where few have any real posi- 
tion in society, and fewer still know what the true meaning 
of the term is, money and beauty are the constant objects 
of pursuit. Anna Updyke formed no exception. She had 
declined, in the gentlest manner possible, no less than six 
direct offers, coming from those who were determined to 
lose nothing by diffidence ; had thrown cold water on more 
than twice that number of little flames that were just be- 
ginning to burn ; and had thrown into the fire some fifteen 


THE WAYS' OF THE HOUR. 


131 

or sixteen anonymous effusions, in prose and verse, that 
came from adventurers who could admire from a distance, 
at the opera and in the streets, but who had no present 
means of getting any nearer than these indirect attempts 
at communication. We say “thrown into the fire ;” for 
Anna was too prudent, and had too much self-respect, to 
retain such documents, coming as they did, from so many 
“ Little Unknowns.” The anonymous effusions were con- 
sequently burnt — with one exception. The exception was 
in the case of a sonnet, in which her hair — and very beauti- 
ful it is — was the theme. From some of the little freemason- 
ry of the intercourse of the sexes, Anna fancied these lines 
had been written by Jack Wilmeter, one of the most constant 
of her visitors, as well as one of her admitted favorites. Be- 
tween Jack and Anna there had been divers passages of gal- 
lantry, which had been very kindly viewed by McBrain and 
the mother. The parties themselves did not understand 
their own feelings ; for matters had not gone far, when Mary 
Monson so strangely appeared on the stage, and drew 
Jack off, on the trail of wonder and mystery, if not on 
that of real passion. As Sarah Wilmeter was the most 
intimate friend of Anna Updyke, it is not extraordinary 
that this singular fancy of the brother’s should be the sub- 
ject of conversation between the two young women, each 
of whom probably felt more interest in his movements 
than any other persons on earth. The dialogue we are 
about to relate took place in Anna’s own room, the morn- 
ing of the day which preceded that of the wedding, and 
followed naturally enough, as the sequence of certain 
remarks which had been made on the approaching event. 

“If my mother were living, and must be married,” said 
Sarah Wilmeter, “ I should be very well content to have 
such a man as Doctor McBrain for a step-father. I have 
known him all my life, and he is, and ever has been, so 
intimate with Uncle Tom, that I almost think him a near 
relation.” 

“And I have known him as long as I can remember,” 
Anna steadily rejoined, “ and have not only a great respect, 
but a warm regard for him. Should I ever marry myself, 
I do not believe I shall have one-half the attachment for 
my father-in-law as I am sure I shall feel for my step- 
father.” 

“ How do you know there will be any father-in-law in 
the case ? I am sure John lias no parent.” 

“ John ! ” returned Anna, faintly — “ What is John to me ? ” 


132 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


“ Thank you, my dear — he is something, at least to me.” 

“To be sure — a brother naturally is — but Jack is no 
brother of mine, you will please to remember.” 

Sarah cast a quick, inquiring look at her friend ; but 
the eyes of Anna were thrown downward on the carpet, 
while the bloom on her cheeks spread to her temples. 
Her friend saw that, in truth, Jack was no brother of hers . 

“What I mean is this” — continued Sarah, following a 
thread that ran through her own mind, rather than any- 
thing that had been already expressed — “ Jack is making 
himself a very silly fellow just now.” 

Anna now raised her eyes ; her lip quivered a little, 
and the bloom deserted even her cheek. Still, she made 
no reply. Women can listen acutely at such moments ; 
but it commonly exceeds their powers to speak. The 
friends understood each other, as Sarah well knew, and 
she continued her remarks precisely as if the other had 
answered them. 

“ Michael Millington brings strange accounts of Jack’s 
behavior at Biberry ! He says that lie seems to do noth- 
ing, think of nothing, talk of nothing, but of the hardship 
of this Mary Monson’s case.” 

“ I’m sure it is cruel enough to awaken the pity of a 
rock,” said Anna Updyke, in a low tone ; “a woman, and 
she a lady, accused of such terrible crimes — murder and 
arson ! ” 

“What is arson, child ? — and how do you know anything 
about it ? ” 

Again Anna colored, her feelings being all sensitiveness 
on this subject ; which had caused her far more pain than 
she had experienced from any other event in her brief life. 
It was, however, necessary to answer. 

“ Arson is setting fire to an inhabited house,” she said, 
after a moment’s reflection ; “ and I know it from having 
been told its signification by Mr. Dunscomb.” 

“ Did Uncle Tom say anything of this Mary Monson, 
and of Jack’s singular behavior ? ” 

“ He spoke of his client as a very extraordinary person, 
and of her accomplishments, and readiness, and beauty. 
Altogether, he does not seem to know what to make of her.” 

“And what did he sav about Jack ? You need have no 
reserve with me, Anna ; I am his sister.” 

“ I know that very well, dear Sarah — but Jack’s name 
was not' mentioned, I believe — certainly not at the particu- 
lar time, and in the conversation to which I now refer.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


r 33 


“ But at some other time, my dear, and in some other con- 
versation.” 

“ He did once say something about your brother’s being 
very attentive to the interests of the person lie calls his 
Dukes County client — nothing more, I do assure you. It 
is the duty of young lawyers to be very attentive to the 
interests of their clients, I should think.” 

“ Assuredly— and that most especially when the client is 
a young lady with a pocket full of money. But Jack 
is above want, and can afford to act riglit at all times and 
on all occasions. I wish he had never seen this strange 
creature.” 

Anna Updyke sat silent for some little time, playing with 
the hem of her pocket-handkerchief. Then she said tim- 
idly, speaking as if she wished an answer, even while she 
dreaded it — 

“ Does not Marie Moulin know something about her ?” 

“ A great deal, if she would only tell it. But Marie, too, 
has gone over to the enemy, since she has seen this siren. 
Not a word can I get out of her, though I have written 
three letters, beyond the fact that she knows Mademoiselle , 
and that she cannot believe her guilty.” 

“The last, surely, is very important. If really innocent, 
how hard has been the treatment she has received ! It is 
not surprising that your brother feels so deep an interest 
in her. He is very warm-hearted and generous, Sarah ; 
and it is just like him to devote his time and talents to the 
service of the oppressed.” 

It was Sarah’s turn to be silent and thoughtful. She 
made no answer, for she well understood that an impulse 
very different from that mentioned by her friend was, just 
then, influencing her brother’s conduct. 

We have related this conversation as the briefest mode 
of making the reader acquainted with the true state of 
things in and about the neat dwelling of Mrs. Updyke in 
Eighth Street. Much, however, remains to be told ; as the 
morning of the very day which succeeded that on which 
the foregoing dialogue was held, was the one named for 
the wedding of the mistress of the house. 

At the very early hour of six, the party met ik the church 
door, one of the most Gothic structures in the new quarter 
of the town ; and five minutes sufficed to make the two 
one. Anna sobbed as she saw her mother passing away 
from her, as it then appeared to her, and the bride herself 
was a little overcome. As for McBrain, as his friend Duns- 


134 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR. 


comb expressed it, in a description given to a brother 
bachelor, who met him at dinner : 

“ He-stood the fire like a veteran ! You’re not going to 
frighten a fellow who has held forth the ring three times. 
You will remember that Ned has previously killed two 
wives, besides all the other folk he has slain ; and I make 
no doubt the fellow’s confidence was a good deal increased 
by the knowledge he possesses that none of us are im- 
mortal — as husbands and wives, at least.” 

But Tom Dunscomb’s pleasantries had no influence on 
his friend’s happiness. Odd as it may appear to some, this 
connection was one of a warm and very sincere attachment. 
Neither of the parties had reached the period of life when 
nature begins to yield to the pressure of time, and there 
was the reasonable prospect before them of their contrib- 
uting largely to each other’s future happiness. The bride 
was dressed with great simplicity, but with a proper care ; 
and she really justified the passion that McBrain insisted, 
in his conversation with Dunscomb, that he felt for her. 
Youthful, for her time of life, modest in demeanor and 
aspect, still attractive in person, the “Widow Updyke” 
became Mrs. McBrain, with as charming an air of woman- 
ly feeling as might have been exhibited by one of less than 
half her age. Covered with blushes, she was handed by 
the bridegroom into his own carriage, which stood at the 
church door, and the two proceeded to Timbully. 

As for Anna Updyke, she went to pass a week in the 
country with Sarah Dunscomb ; even a daughter being a 
little de trop , in a honey-moon. Rattletrap was the singu- 
lar name Tom Dunscomb had given to his country-house. 
It was a small yilla-like residence, on the banks of the 
Hudson, and within the Island of Manhattan. Concealed 
in a wood, it was a famous place for a bachelor to hide his 
oddities in. Here Dunscomb concentrated all his out-of- 
the-way purchases, including plows that were never used, 
all sorts of farming utensils that were condemned to the 
same idleness, and such contrivances in the arts of fishing 
and shooting as struck his fancy ; though the lawyer never 
handled a rod or levelled a fowling-piece. But Tom Duns- 
comb, though he professed to despise love, had fancies of 
his own. It gave him a certain degree of pleasure to seeiti 
to have these several tastes ; and he threw away a good 
deal of money in purchasing these characteristic orna- 
ments for Rattletrap. When Jack Wilmeter ventured one 
day to ask his uncle what pleasure he could find in collect- 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. 


135 


ing so many costly and perfectly useless articles, imple- 
ments that had not the smallest apparent connection with 
his ordinary pursuits and profession, he got the following 
answer : 

“You are wrong, Jack, in supposing that these traps are 
useless. A lawyer has occasion for a vast deal of knowl- 
edge that he wall never got out of his books. One should 
have the elements of all the sciences, and of most of the 
arts, in his mind, to make a thoroughly good advocate ; for 
their application will become neccessary on a thousand 
occasions, when Blackstone and Kent can be of no service. 
No, no ; I prize my profession highly, and look upon Rat- 
tletrap as my Inn of Court.” 

Jack Wilmeter had come over from Biberry to attend 
the wedding, and had now accompanied the party into the 
country, as it w T as called ; though the place of Dunscomb 
was so near town that it was not difficult, when the wind 
was at the southward, to hear the fire-bell on the City 
Hall. The meeting between John Wilmeter and Anna 
Updyke had been fortunately a little relieved by the pecul- 
iar circumstances in which the latter was placed. The 
feeling she betrayed, the pallor of her cheek, and the ner- 
vousness of her deportment, might all, naturally enough, 
be imputed to the emotions of a daughter, who saw her 
own mother standing at the altar, by the side of one who 
was not her natural father. Let this be as it might, Anna 
had the advantage of the inferences which those around 
her made on these facts. The young people met first in 
the church, where there was no opportunity for any ex- 
change of language or looks. Sarah took herfriend away 
with her alone, on the road to Rattletrap, immediately 
after the ceremony, in order to allow Anna’s spirits and 
manner to become composed, without being subjected to 
unpleasant observation. Dunscomb and his nephew drove 
out in a light vehicle of the latter’s ; and Michael Milling- 
ton appeared later at the villa, bringing with him to dinner, 
Timms, who came on business connected with the ap- 
proaching trial. 

There never had been any love-making, in the direct 
meaning of the term, between John Wilmeter and Anna 
Updyke. They had known each other so long and so inti- 
mately, that both regarded the feeling of kindness that each 
knew subsisted, as a mere fraternal sort of affection. “ Jack 
is Sarah’s brother,” thought Anna, when she permitted 
herself to reason on the subject at all ; “and it is natural 


THE WAYS 'OF THE HOUR. 


136 

that I should have more friendship for him than for any 
other young man.” “ Anna is Sarah’s most intimate friend, ” 
thought Jack, “and that is the long and short of my at- 
tachment for her. Take away Sarah, and Anna would be 
nothing to me ; though she is so pretty, and clever, and 
gentle, and lady-like. I must like those Sarah likes, or it 
might make us both unhappy.” This was the reasoning of 
nineteen, and when Anna Updyke was just budding into 
young womanhood ; at a later day, habit had got to be so 
much in the ascendant, that neither of the young people 
thought much on the subject at all. The preference was 
strong in each — so strong, indeed, as to hover over the con- 
fines of passion, and quite near to its vortex ; though the 
long-accustomed feeling prevented either from entering 
into its analysis. The attachments that grow up with our 
daily associations, and get to be so interwoven with our 
most familiar thoughts, seldom carry away those who sub- 
mit to them, in the whirlwind of passion ; which are much 
more apt to attend sudden and impulsive love. Cases do 
certainly occur in which the parties have long known each 
other, and have lived on for years in a dull appreciation of 
mutual merit — sometimes with prejudices and alienation 
active between them ; when suddenly all is changed, and 
the scene that was lately so tranquil and tame becomes 
tumultuous and glowing, and life assumes a new charm, as 
the profound emotions of passion chase away its dulness ; 
substituting hope, and fears, and lively wishes, and soul- 
felt impressions in its stead. This is not usual in the course 
of the most wayward of all our impulses ; but it does oc- 
casionally happen, brightening existence with a glow that 
might well be termed divine, were the colors bestowed 
derived from a love of the Creator, in lieu of that of one 
of his creatures. In these sudden awakenings of dormant 
feelings, some chord of mutual sympathy, some deep-rooted 
affinity is aroused, carrying, away their possessors in a tor- 
rent of the feelings. Occasionally, wherever the affinity is 
active, the impulse natural and strongly Sympathetic, these 
sudden and seemingly wayward attachments are the most 
indelible, coloring the whole of the remainder of life ; but 
oftener do they take the character of mere impulse, rather 
than that of deeper sentiment, and disappear, as they were 
first seen, in some sudden glow of the horizon of the affec- 
tions. 

In this brief analysis of some of the workings of the 
heart, we may find a clew to the actual frame of mind in 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 137 

which John Wilmeter returned from Biberry, where he had 
now been, like a sentinel on post, for several weeks, in 
vigilant watchfulness over the interests of Marv Monson. 
During all that time, however, he had not once been ad- 
mitted within the legal limits of the prison; holding his 
brief, but rather numerous conferences with his client, at 
the little grate in the massive door that separated the jail 
from the dwelling of the sheriff. Kind-hearted Mrs. Gott 
would have admitted him to the gallery, whenever he chose 
to ask that favor ; but this act of courtesy had been for- 
bidden by Mary Monson herself. Timms she did receive, 
and she conferred with him in private on more than one 
occasion, manifesting great earnestness in the consultations 
that preceded the approaching trial. But John Wilmeter 
she would receive only at the grate, like a nun in a well- 
regulated convent. Even this coyness contributed to feed 
the fire that had been so suddenly lighted in the young 
man’s heart, on which the strangeness of the prisoner’s 
situation, her personal attractions, her manners, and all the 
other known peculiarities of person, history, education and 
deportment, had united to produce a most lively impres- 
sion, however fleeting it was to prove in the end. 

Had there been any direct communications on the sub- 
ject of the attachment that had so long, so slowly, but so 
surely been taking roots in the hearts of John and Anna, 
any reciprocity in open confidence, this unlooked-for im- 
pulse in a new direction could not have overtaken the 
young man. He did not know how profound was the in- 
terest that Anna took in him; nor, for that matter, was s! e 
aware of it herself, until Michael Millington brought the 
unpleasant tidings of the manner in which his friend seemed 
to be entranced with his uncle’s client at Biberry. Then in- 
deed, Anna was made to feel that surest attendant of the live- 
liest love, a pang of jealousy; anti for the first time in her 
young and innocent life she became aware of the real nature 
of her sentiments in behalf of John Wilmeter. On the other 
hand, drawn aside from the ordinary course of his affections 
by sudden, impulsive and exciting novelties, John w r as fast 
submitting to the influence of the charms of the fair stran- 
ger, as more than once intimated in our opening pages, as the 
newly-fallen snow melts under the rays of a noon 'ay sun. 

Such, then, was the state of matters in this little circle, 
when the wedding took place, and John Wilmeter joined 
the family party. Although Dunscomb did all he could to 


138 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


make the dinner gay, Rattletrap had seldom entertained a 
more silent company than that which sat down at its little 
round table on this occasion. John thought of Biberry 
and Mary Monson ; Sarah’s imagination was quite busy in 
wondering why Michael Millington stayed away so long ; 
and Anna was on the point of bursting into tears half a 
dozen times, under the depression produced by the joint 
events of her mother’s marriage, and John Wilmeter’s ob- 
vious change of deportment toward her. 

“ What the deuce has kept Michael Millington and that 
fellow Timms from joining us at dinner?” said the master 
of the house, as the fruit was placed upon the table ; and, 
closing one eye, he looked with the other through the ruby 
rays of a glass of well-cooled Madeira — his favorite wine. 
“ Both promised to be punctual ; yet here are they both 
sadly out of time. They knew the dinner was to cqme off 
at four.” 

“As is one, so are both,” answered John. “You will 
remember they were to come together ? ” 

“ True — and Millington is rather a punctual man— es- 
pecially in visiting at Rattletrap ” — here Sarah blushed a 
little ; but the engagement in her case being announced, 
there was no occasion for any particular confusion. “ We 
shall have to take Michael with us into Dukes next w T eek, 
Miss Wilmeter ; the case being too grave to neglect bring- 
ing up all our forces.” 

“ Is Jack, too, to take a part in the trial, Uncle Tom ? ” 
demanded the niece, with a little interest in the answer. 

“ Jack, too — everybody, in short. When the life of a fine 
young woman is concerned, it behooves her counsel to be 
active and diligent. I have never before had a cause into 
which my feelings have so completely entered — no, never.” 

“ Do not counsel always enter, heart and hand, into their 
clients’ interests, and make themselves, as it might be, as 
you gentlemen of the b;y sometimes term these things, a 
‘part and parcel ’ of their concerns ? ” 

This question was put by Sarah, but it caused Anna to 
raise her eyes from the fruit she was pretending to eat, 
and to listen intently to the reply. Perhaps she fancied 
that the answer might explain the absorbed manner in 
which John had engaged in the service of the accused. 

“ As far from it as possible, in many cases,” returned the 
uncle “ though there certainly are others in which one 
engages with all his feelings. But every day lessens my 
interest in the law, and all that belongs to it.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


I 39 


“ Why should that be so. sir ? I have heard you called 
a devotee of the profession.” 

“ That’s because I have no wife. Let a man live a bache- 
lor, and ten to one he gets some nickname or other. On 
the other hand, let him marry two or three times, like Ned 
McBrain — beg your pardon, Nanny, for speaking disre- 
spectfully of your papa — but let a fellow just get his third 
wife, and they tack ‘family’ to his appellation at once. 
He’s an excellent family lawyer, or a capital family physi- 
cian, or a supremely pious — no, I don’t know that they’ve 
got so far as the parsons, for they are all family fellows.” 

“You have a spite against matrimony, Uncle Tom.” 

“Well, if I have, it stops with me, as & family complaint 
You are free from it, my dear ; and I’m half inclined to 
think Jack will marry before he is a year older. But here 
are the tardies at last.” 

Although the uncle made no allusion to the person his 
nephew was to marry, everybody but himself thought of 
Mary Monson at once. Anna turned pale as death ; Sarah 
looked thoughtful, and even sad ; and John became as red 
as scarlet. But the entrance of Michael Millington and 
Timms caused the conversation to turn on another subject, 
as a matter of course. 

“We expected you to dinner, gentlemen,” Dunscomb 
dryly remarked, as he pushed the bottle to his guests. 

“ Business before eating is my maxim, Squire Duns- 
comb,” Timms replied. “ Mr. Millington and I have been 
very busy in the office, from the moment Doctor McBrain 
and his lady ” 

“Wife — say ‘wife,’ Timms, if you please. Or ‘Mrs. 
McBrain,’ if you like that better.” 

“Well, sir, I used the word I did out of compliment to 
the other ladies present. They love to be honored and 
signalized in our language, when we speak of them, 'sir, I 
believe.” 

“ Poll ! poh ! Timms ; take my advice, and let all these 
small matters alone. It takes a life to master them, and 
one must begin from the cradle. When all is ended, they 
are scarce worth the trouble they give. Speak good, plain, 
direct, and manly English, I have always told you, and 
you’ll get along well enough, but make no attempts to be 
fine. ‘ Doctor McBrain and lady' is next thing to 1 going 
through Hurlgate’ or meeting a ‘lady friend.’ You’ll 
never get the right sort of a wife until you drop all such 
absurdities.” 


1.40 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ I’ll tell you how it is, squire : so far as law goes, or 
even morals, and I don’t know but I may say general gov- 
ernment politics, I look upon you as the best adviser I can 
consult. But when it comes to matrimony, I can’t see 
how you should know any more about it than I do myself. 
I do intend to get married one of these days, which is 
more, I fancy, than you ever had in view.” 

“No ; my great concern has been to escape matrimony ; 
but a man may get a very tolerable notion of the sex while 
manoeuvring among them, with that intention. I am not 
certain that he who has had two or three handsomely man- 
aged escapes, doesn’t learn as much as he who has had two 
or three wives — I mean of useful information. What do 
you think of all this, Millington ?” 

“That I wish for no escapes, when my choice has been 
free and fortunate.” 

“ And you, Jack ? ” 

“ Sir 1 ” answered the nephew, starting as if aroused 
from a brown study. “ Did you speak to me, Uncle Tom ?” 

“ He'W not be of much use to us next week, Timms,” 
said the counsellor, coolly, filling his own and his neigh- 
bor’s glass as he spoke, with iced Madeira — “ These capital 
cases demand the utmost vigilance ; more especially when 
popular prejudice sets in against them.” 

“Should the jury find Mary Monson to be guilty, what 
would be the sentence of the court ? ” demanded Sarah, 
smiling, even while she seemed much interested — “ I be- 
lieve that is right, Mike — the court ‘sentences,’ and the 
jury ‘convicts.’ If there be any mistake, you must answer 
for it.” 

“ I am afraid to speak of laws, or constitutions, in the 
presence of your uncle, since the rebuke Jack and I got 
in that affair of the toast,” returned Sarah’s betrothed, arch- 
ing his eyebrows. 

“By the way, Jack, did that dinner ever come off ? ” de- 
manded the uncle, suddenly ; “ I looked for your toasts in 
the journals, but do not remember ever to have seen 
them.” 

“You could not have seen any of mine, sir; for I went 
to Biberry that very morning, and only left there last even- 
ing ’’—Anna’s countenance resembled a lily, just as it be- 
gins to droop— “ I believe, however, the whole affair fell 
through, as no one seems to know, just now, who are and 
who are not the friends of liberty. It is the people to- 
day ; some prince to-morrow ; the Pope next day ; and, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


141 

by the end of the week, we may have a Masaniello or a 
Robespierre uppermost. The times seem sadly out of 
joint just now, and the world is fast getting to be upside- 
down.” 

“ It’s all owing to this infernal Code, Timms, which is 
enough to revolutionize human nature itself ! ” cried Duns- 
comb, with an animation that produced a laugh in the 
young folk (Anna excepted), and a simper in the person 
addressed. “Ever since this thing has come into opera- 
tion among us, I never know when a case is to be heard, 
the decision had, or the principles that are to come upper- 
most. Well, we must try and get some good out of it, if 
we can, in this capital case.” 

“Which is drawing very near, squire ; and I have some 
facts to communicate in that affair which it may be well 
to compare with the law, without much more delay.” 

“Let us finish this bottle — if the boys help us, it will 
not be much more than a glass apiece.” 

“ I don’t think the squire will ever be up held at the polls 
by the temperance people,” said Timms, filling his glass 
to the brim ; for, to own the truth, it was seldom that he 
got such wine. 

“As you are expecting to be held up by them, my fine 
fellow. I’ve heard of your management, Master Timms, 
and am told you aspire as high as the State Senate. Well ; 
there is room for better, but much worse men have been 
sent there. Now let us go to what I call the ‘Rattletrap 
office.’ ” 


CHAPTER XI. 

The strawberry grows underneath the nettle, 

And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best. 

Neighbor’d by fruit of baser quality . — King Henry V. 

There stood a very pretty pavilion in one of the groves 
of Rattletrap, overhanging the water, with the rock of the 
river-shore for its foundation. It had two small apart- 
ments, in one of which Dunscomb had caused a bookcase, 
a table, a rocking-chair, and a lounge to be placed. The 
other was furnished more like an ordinary summer-house, 
and was at all times accessible to the inmates of the family. 
The sanctum, or office, was kept locked ; and here its 
owner often brought his papers, and passed whole days, 


142 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


during the warm months, when it is the usage to be out of 
town, in preparing his cases. To this spot, then, the coun- 
sellor now held his way, attended by Timms, having or- 
dered a servant to bring a light and some cigars ; smoking 
being one of the regular occupations of the office. In a 
few minutes, each of the two men of the law had a cigar 
in his mouth, and was seated at a little window that com- 
manded a fine view of the Hudson, its fleet of sloops, 
steamers, tow-boats, and colliers, and its high, rocky west- 
ern shore, which has obtained the not inappropriate name 
of the Palisades. 

The cigars, the glass, and the pleasant scenery, teeming 
as was the last with movement and life, appeared, for the 
moment, to drive ‘from the minds of the two men of the 
law the business on which they had met. It was a proof 
of the effect of habit that a person like Dunscomb, who 
was really a good man, and one who loved his fellow- 
creatures, could just then forget that a human life was, in 
some measure, dependent on the decisions of this very in- 
terview, and permit his thoughts to wander from so im- 
portant an interest. So it was, however ; and the first 
topic that arose in this consultation had no reference what- 
ever to Mary Monson or her approaching trial, though it 
soon led the colloquists round to her situation, as it might 
be, without their intending it. 

“ This is a charming retreat, Squire Dunscomb,” com- 
menced Timms, settling himself with some method in a 
very commodious arm-chair ; “ and one that I should often 
frequent, did I ovfrn it.” 

“ I hope you will live to be master of one quite as pleas- 
ant, Timms, some time or other. They tell me your prac- 
tice now is one of the best in Dukes ; some two or three 
thousand a year, I dare say, if the truth were known.” 

* “ It’s as good as anybody’s on our circuit, unless you 
count the bigwigs from York. I won’t name the sum, 
even to as old a friend as yourself, squire ; for the man 
who lets the world peep into his purse, will soon find it 
footing him up, like a sum in arithmetic. You’ve gentle- 
men in town, however, who sometimes get more for a sin- 
gle case, than I can ’arn in a twelvemonth.” 

‘" Still, considering your beginning, and late appearance 
at the bar, Timms, you are doing pretty well. Do you 
lead in many trials at the circuit ? ” 

“That depends pretty much on age, you know, squire. 
Gen’rally older lawyers are put into all my causes ; but I 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


H3 


have carried one or two through on my own shoulders, 
and that by main strength too.” 

“ It must have been by your facts, rather than by your 
law. The verdicts turned altogether on testimony, did 
they not ? ” 

“ Pretty much — and that's the sort of a case I like. A 
man can prepare his evidence beforehand, and make some 
calculations where it will land him ; but, as for the law, I 
do not see that studying it as hard as I will, makes me 
much the wiser. A case is no sooner settled one way by 
a judge in New York, than it is settled in another, in Penn- 
sylvany or Virginny.” 

“ And that, too, when courts were identical and had a 
character! Now, we have eight Supreme Courts, and 
they are beginning to settle the law in eight different ways. 
Have you studied the Code pretty closely, Timms ?” 

“ Not I, sir. They tell me things will come round under 
it in time, and I try to be patient. There’s one thing 
about it that I do like. It has taken all the Latin out of 
the law, which is a great help to us poor scholars.” 

“ It has that advantage, I confess ; and before if is done, 
it will take all the law out of the Latin. They tell me it 
was proposed to call the old process, of ‘ ne exeat ’ a writ of 
‘ no go.’ ” 

“Well, to my mind, the last would be the best term of 
the two.” 

“Ay, to your mind, it might, Timms. How do you like 
the fee-bills, and the new mode of obtaining your compen- 
sation ? ” 

“ Capital ! The more they change them matters, the 
deeper we’ll dig into ’em, squire ! I never knew reform 
help the great body of the community — all it favors is in- 
dividuals.” 

“ There is more truth in that, Timms, than you are 
probably aware of yourself. Reform, fully half the time, 
does no more than shift the pack-saddle from one set of 
shoulders to another. Nor do I believe much is gained 
be endeavoring to make law cheap. It were better for 
the community that it should be dear ; though cases do 
occur in which its charges might amount to a denial of 
justice. It is to be regretted that the world oftener de- 
cides under the influence of exceptions, rather than under 
that of the rule. Besides,, it is no easy matter to check the 
gains of a thousand or two of hungry attorneys.” 

“There you’re right, squire, if you never hit the nail on 


144 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

/ 1 ' r ’ 

the head before. But the new scheme is working well for 
us, and, in one sense, it may work well for the people. 
The compensation is the first thing thought of now ; and 
when that is the case, the client stops to think. It isn’t 
every person that holds as large and as open a purse as 
our lady at Biberry ! ” 

“ Ay, she continues to fee you, does she, Timms ? Pray, 
how much has she given you, altogether?” 

“ Not enough to build a new wing to the Astor Library, 
nor to set up a parson in a Gothic temple; still, enough tat 
engage me, heart and hand, in her service. First and last, 
my receipts have been a thousand dollars, besides money 
for the outlays.” 

“ Which have amounted to ” 

“More than as much more. This is a matter of life and 
death, you know, sir ; and prices rise accordingly. All I 
have received has been handed to me either in gold or 
in good current paper. The first troubled me a good deal, 
for I was not certain some more pieces might not be recog- 
nized, though they were all eagles and half-eagles.” 

“ Has any such recognition occurred ?” demanded Duns- 
comb, with interest. 

“To be frank with you, Squire Dunscomb, I sent the 
money to town at once, and set it afloat in the great cur- 
rent in Wall Street, where it could do neither good nor 
harm on the trial. It would have been very green iri me to 
pay out the precise coin among the people of Dukes. No 
one could say what might have been the consequences.” 

“It is not very easy for me to foretell the consequences 
of the substitutes which, it seems, you did use. A fee to a 
counsel I can understand; but what the deuce you have 
done, legally, with a thousand dollars out-of-doors, ex- 
ceeds my penetration. I trust you have not been attempt- 
ing to purchase jurors, Timms?” 

“ Not I, sir. I know the penalties too well, to venture 
on such a defence. Besides, it is too soon to attempt that 
game. Jurors maybe bought; sometimes are bought, I 
have heard say ” — here Timms screwed up his face into a 
most significant mimicry of disapprobation — “but I have 
done nothing of the sort in the ‘State vs. Mary Monson.’ 
It is too soon to operate, even should the testimony drive 
us to that, in the long run.” 

“I forbid all illegal measures, Timms. You know my 
rule of trying causes is never to overstep the limits of the 
law.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 145 

“Yes, sir; I understand your principle, which will an- 
swer, provided both sides stick to it. But, let a man act 
as close to what is called honesty as he please, what cer- 
tainty has he that his adversary will observe the same rule ? 
This is the great difficulty I find in getting along in the 
world, squire ; opposition upsets all a man’s best inten- 
tions. Now, in politics, sir, there is no man in the country 
better disposed to uphold respectable candidates and just 
principles than I am myself ; but the other side squeezes 
us up so tight, that before the election comes off I’m 
ready to vote for the devil, rather than get the worst of 
it.” 

“Ay, that’s the wicked man’s excuse all over the world, 
Timms. In voting for the gentleman you have just men- 
tioned, you will remember you are sustaining the enemy 
of your race, whatever may be his particular relation to 
his party. But in this affair at Biberry, you will please to 
remember it is not an election, nor is the devil a candi- 
date. What success have you had with the testimony ?” 

“ There’s an abstract of it, sir ; and a pretty mess it is ! 
So far as I can see, we shall have to rest entirely on the 
witnesses of the State ; for I can get nothing out of the 
accused.” 

“ Does- she still insist on her silence, in respect of the 
past ? ” 

“As close as if she had been born dumb. I have told 
her in the strongest language, that her life depends on her 
appearing before the jury with a plain tale and a good 
character ; but she will help me to neither. I never had 
such a client before ” 

“Open-handed you mean, I suppose, Timms?” 

“ In that partic’lar, Squire Duuscomb, she is just what 
the profession likes — liberal, and pays down. Of course, 
I am so much the more anxious to do all I can in her case ; 
but she will not let me serve her.” 

“ There must be some strong reason for all this reserve, 
Timms. Have you questioned the Swiss maid that my 
niece sent to her ? We know her , and it would seem that 
she knows Mary Monson. Here is so obvious a way of 
coming at the past, I trust you have spoken to her ? ” 

“She will not let me say a word to the maid. There 
they live together, chatter with one another from morning 
to night, in French that nobody understands ; but will see 
no one but me, and me only in public, as it might be. 

“In public ! You have not asked for private interviews, 
10 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*46 

eh, Timms? Remember your views upon the county, and 
the great danger there is of the electors finding you 
out.” 

“I well know, Squire Dunscomb, that your opinion of 
me is not very flattering in some partic’lars ; while in oth- 
ers I think you place me pretty well up the ladder. As 
for old Dukes, I believe I stand as well in that county as 
any man in it, now the Revolutionary patriots are nearly 
gone. So long as any of them lasted, we modern fellows 
had no chance ; and the way in which relics were brought 
to light was wonderful ! If Washington only had an army 
one- tenth as strong as these patriots make it out to be, he 
would have driven the British from the country years 
sooner than it was actually done. Luckily, my grand- 
father did serve a short tour of duty in that war : and my 
own father was a captain of militia in 1814, lying out on 
Harlem Heights and Harlem Common, most of the fall ; 
when and where he caught the rheumatism. This was no 
bad capital to start upon : and, though you treat it lightly, 
squire, I’m a favorite in the county — I am!” 

“ Nobody doubts it, Timms ; or can doubt it, if he knew 
the history of these matters. Let me see — I believe I first 
heard of you as a temperance lecturer ? ” 

“ Excuse me, I began with the Common Schools, on 
which I. lectured with some success, one whole season. 
Then came the temperance cause, out of which, I will own, 
not a little capital was made.” 

“ And do you stop there, Timms ; or do you ride some 
other hobby into power ? ” 

“ It’s my way, Mr. Dunscomb, to try all sorts of med’- 
cines. Some folks that wun’t touch rhubarb will swallow 
salts ; and all palates must be satisfied. Free Sile and 
Emancipation Doctrines are coming greatly into favor ; 
but they are ticklish things, that cut like a two-edged 
sword, and I do not fancy meddling with them. There 
are about as many opposed to meddling with slavery in 
the free States, as there are in favor of it. I wish I knew 
your sentiments, Squire Dunscomb, on this subject. I’ve 
always found your doctrines touching the constitution to 
be sound, and such as would stand examination.” 

“The constitutional part of the question is very simple, 
and presents no difficulties whatever,” returned the coun- 
sellor,' squinting through the ruby of his glass, with an 
old-bachelor sort of delight, “ except for those who have 
special ends to obtain.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


r 47 


“ Has, or has not, Congress a legal right to enact laws 
preventing the admission of slaves into California?” 

“ Congress has the legal right to govern any of its terri- 
tories despotically ; of course, to admit or to receive what 
it may please within their limits. The resident of a terri- 
tory is not a citizen, and has no legal claim to be so con- 
sidered. California, as a conquered territory, may be thus 
governed by the laws of nations, unless the treaty of 
cession places some restrictions on the authority of the 
conqueror. A great deal of absurdity is afloat among 
those who should know better, touching the powers of 
government in this country. You, yourself, are one of 
those fellows, Timms, who get things upside-down, and 
fancy the constitution is to be looked into for everything.” 

“And is it not, squire ? — that is, in the way of theory — 
in practice, I know it is a very different matter. Are we 
not to look into the constitution for all the powers of the 
government ? ” 

“Of th e government, perhaps, in one sense — but not for 
those of the nation. Whence come the powers to make 
war and peace, to form treaties and alliances, maintain 
armies and navies, coin money, etc. ?” 

“ You’ll find them ail in the constitution, as I read it, 
sir.” 

“There is just your mistake ; and connected with it are 
most of the errors that are floating about in our political 
world. The country gets its legal right to do all these 
things from the laws of nations; the constitution, mere- 
ly saying who shall be its agents in the exercise of 
these powers. Thus war is rendered legal by the custom 
of nations; and the constitution says -Congress shall de- 
clare war. It also says Congress shall pass all laws that 
become necessary to carry out this power. It follows, 
Congress may pass any law that has a legitimate aim to 
secure a conquest. Nor is this all the functionaries of the 
government can do, on general principles, in the absence 
of any special provisions by a direct law. The latter 
merely supersedes or directs the power of the former. The 
constitution guarantees nothing to the territories. They 
are strictly subject, and may be governed absolutely. The 
only protection of their people is in the sympathy and 
habits of the people of the States. We give them political 
liberty, not as of legal necessity, but as a boon to which 
they are entitled in good-fellowship— or as the father pro- 
vides for his children.” 


148 


THE IV A VS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Th<?n you think Congress has power to exclude slavery 
from California ? ” 

“ I can’t imagine a greater legal absurdity than to deny 
it. I see no use in any legislation on the subject, as a mat- 
ter of practice, since California will shortly decide on this 
interest for herself ; but, as a right in theory, it strikes me 
to be madness to deny that the government of the United 
.States has full power over all its territories, both on gen- 
eral principles and under the constitution.” 

“ And in the Deestrict — you hold to the same power in 
the Deestrict ? ” 

“Beyond a question. Congress can abolish domestic 
servitude or slavery in the District of Columbia whenever 
it shall see fit. The right is as clear as the sun at noon- 
day.” 

“If these are your opinions, Squire, I’ll go for Free Sile 
and Abolition in the Deestrict. They have a popular cry, 
and take wonderfully well in Dukes, and will build me up 
considerable. I like to be right ; but, most of all, I like to 
be strong.” 

“ If you adopt such a course, you will espouse trouble 
without any dower, and that will be worse than McBrain’s 
three wives ; and, what is more, in the instance of the Dis- 
trict, you will be guilty of an act of oppression. You will 
remember that the possession of a legal power to do a par- 
ticular thing, does not infer a moral right to exercise it. 
As respects your Free Soil, it may be well to put down a 
foot ; and, so far as votes legally used can be thrown, to 
prevent the further extension of slavery. In this respect you 
are right enough, and will be sustained by an overwhelm- 
ing majority of the nation ; but, when it comes to the Dis- 
trict, the question has several sides to it.” 

“You said yourself, Squire, that Congress has all power 
to legislate for the Deestrict ? ” • 

“No doubt it has — but the possession of a power does 
not necessarily imply its use. We have power, as a nation, 
to make war on little Portugal, and crush her ; but it would 
be very wicked to do so. When a member of Congress 
votes on any question that strictly applies to the District, 
he should reason precisely as if his constituents all lived 
in the District itself. You will understand, Timms, that 
liberty' is closely connected with practice, and is not a mere 
creature of phrases and. professions. What more intoler- 
able tyranny could exist than to have a man elected by 
New Yorkers legislating fur the District on strictly New 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


M9 


York policy; or, if you will, on New York prejudices ? If 
the people of the District wish to get rid of the institution 
of domestic slavery, there are ways for ascertaining the 
fact ; and once assured of that, Congress ought to give the 
required relief. But in framing such a law, great care 
should be taken not to violate the comity of the Union. 
The comity of nations is, in practice, a portion of their 
laws, and is respected as such ; how much more, then, 
ought we to respect this comity in managing the relations 
between the several States of this Union ! ” 

“Yes, the sovereign States of the Union,” laying em- 
phasis on the word we have italicized. 

“ Pshaw — they are no more sovereign than you and I 
are sovereign.” 

“ Not sovereign, sir ! ” exclaimed Timms, actually jump- 
ing to his feet in astonishment ; “why this is against the 
National Faith— contrary to all the theories.” 

“ Something so, I must confess ; yet very good common 
sense. If there be any sovereignty left in the States,' it is 
the very minimum, and a thing of show, rather than of 
substance. If you will look at the constitution, you will 
find that the equal representation of the States in the 
Senate is the only right of a sovereign character that is 
left to the members of the Union separate and apart from 
their confederated communities.” 

Timms rubbed his brows, and seemed to be in some 
mental trouble. The doctrine of the “ Sovereign States ” 
is so very common, so familiar in men’s mouths, that no 
one dreams of disputing it. Nevertheless, Dunscomb had a 
great reputation in his set as a constitutional lawyer, and 
the “ expounders ” were very apt to steal his demonstra- 
tions, without giving him credit for them. As before the 
nation, a school-boy would have carried equal weight ; 
but the direct, vigorous, common-sense arguments that he 
brought to the discussions, as well as the originality of his 
views, ever commanded the profound respect of the intel- 
ligent. Timms had cut out for himself a path by which 
he intended to ascend in the scale of society ; and had in- 
dustriously, if not very profoundly, considered all the agi- 
tating questions of the day, in the relations they might be 
supposed to bear to his especial interests. He had al- 
most determined to come out an abolitionist ; for he saw 
that the prejudices of the hour were daily inclining the 
electors of the Northern States, more and more, to oppose 
the further extension of domestic slavery, so far as sur- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . . 


150 

face was concerned, which was in effect preparing the way 
for the final destruction of the institution altogether. For 
Mr. Dunscomb, however, this wily limb of the law, and 
skilful manager of men, had the most profound respect ; 
and he was very glad to draw him out still further on a 
subject that was getting to be of such intense interest to 
himself, as well as to the nation at large ; for, out of all 
doubt, it is the question, not only of the “ Hour,” but for 
years to come. 

“Well, sir, this surprises me more and more. The 
States not sovereign ! Why, they gave all the power it pos- 
sesses to the Federal Government !” 

“ Very true ; and it is precisely for that reason they are 
not sovereign— that which is given away is no longer pos- 
sessed. All the great powers of sovereignty are directly 
bestowed on the Union, which alone possesses them.” 

“I will grant you that, squire ; but enough is retained 
to hang either of us. The deuce is in it if that be not a 
sovereign power.” 

“ It does not follow from the instance cited. Send a 
squadron abroad, and its officers can hang ; but they are 
not sovereign, for the simple reason that there is a recog- 
nized authority over them, which can increase, sustain, or 
take away altogether any such and all other power. Thus 
is it with the States. By a particular clause, the constitu- 
tion can be amended, including all the interests involved, 
with a single exception. This is an instance in which the 
exception does strictly prove the rule. All interests but 
the one excepted can be dealt with, by a species of legis- 
lation that is higher than common. The Union can con- 
stitutionally abolish domestic slavery altogether ” 

“ It can ! It would be the making of any political man’s 
fortune to be able to show that ! " 

“Nothing is easier than to show it, in the w T ay of the- 
ory, Timms ; though nothing would be harder to achieve, 
in the way of practice. The constitution can be legally 
amended so as to effect this end, provided majorities in 
three-fourths of the States can be obtained, though every 
living soul in the remaining States were opposed to it. 
I hat this is the just construction of the great fundamental 
law, as it has been solemnly adopted, no discreet man can 
doubt ; though, on the other hand, no discreet person 
would think of attempting such a measure, as the vote 
necessary to success cannot be obtained. To talk of the 
sovereignty of a community over this particular interest, 


THE WAYS OF THE HO PR. 


for instance, when all the authority on the subject can be 
taken from it in direct opposition to the wishes of every 
man, woman and child it contains, is an absurdity. The 
sovereignty, as respects slavery, is in the Union, and not 
in the several States ; and therein you can see the fallacy 
of contending that Congress has nothing to do with the 
interest, when Congress can take the initiative in altering 
this or any other clause of the great national compact.” 

“ But, the Deestrict — the Deestrict, Squire Dunscomb 
— what can and ought to be done there ? ” 

“ I believe in my soul, Timms, you have an aim on a 
seat in Congress ! Why stop short of the Presidency ? 
Men as little likely as yourself to be elevated to that high 
office have been placed in the executive chair ; and why 
not you as well as another?” 

“ It is an office ‘ neither to be sought nor declined,’ 
said an eminent statesman,” answered Timms, with a seri- 
ousness that amused his companion, who saw, by his man- 
ner, that his old pupil held himself in reserve for accidents 
of political life. “ But, sir, I am very anxious to get right 
on the subject of the Deestrict” — Timms pronounced this 
word as we have spelt it — “and I know that if any man 
can set me right, it is yourself.” 

“As respects the District, Mr. Timms, here is my faith.' 
It is a territory provided for in the constitution for a 
national purpose, and must be regarded as strictly national 
property, held exclusively for objects that call all classes of 
citizens within its borders. Now two great principles, in 
my view, should control all legislation for this little com- 
munity. As I have said already, it would be tyranny to 
make the notions and policy of New York or Vermont 
bear on the legislation of the District; but every member 
is bound to act strictly as a representative of the people 
of the spot for whom the law is intended. If I were in 
Congress, I would at any time, on a respectable applica- 
tion, vote to refer the question of abolition to the people 
of the District ; if they said ay, I would say ay ; if no, no. 
Beyond this I would never go ; nor do I think the man 
who wishes to push matters beyond this, sufficiently re- 
spects the general principles of representative govern- 
ment, or knows how to respect the spirit of the national 
compact On the supposition that the District ask relief 
from the institution of slavery, great care should be ob- 
served in granting the necessary legislation. Although 
the man in South Carolina has no more right to insist 


152 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


that the District should maintain the ‘peculiar institu- 
tion,’ because his particular State maintains it, than the 
Vermontese to insist on carrying his Green Mountain no- 
tions into the District laws ; yet has the Carolinian rights 
in this territory that must ever be respected, let the gen- 
eral policy adopted be what it may. Every American has 
an implied right to visit the District on terms of equality. 
Now there would be no equality if a law were passed ex- 
cluding the domestics from any portion of the country. 
In the slave States, slaves exclusively perform the func- 
tions of domestics ; and sweeping abolition might very 
easily introduce regulations that would be unjust toward 
the slave-holders. As respects the Northern man, the ex- 
istence of slavery in or out of the District is purely a spec- 
ulative question ; but it is not so with the Southern. This 
should never be forgotten ; and I always feel disgust when 
I hear a Northern man swagger and make a parade of his 
morality on this subject.” 

“But the Southern men swagger and make a parade of 
their chivalry, squire, on the other hand ! ” 

“Quite true ; but, with them, there is a strong provoca- 
tion. It is a matter of life and eleath to the South ; and 
the comity of which I spoke requires great moderation on 
our part. As for the threats of dissolution, of which we 
have had so many, like the cry of ‘Wolf,’ they have worn 
themselves out and are treated with indifference.” 

“ The threat is still used, Mr. Dunscomb ! ” 

“ Beyond a doubt, Timms ; but of one thing you may 
rest well assured — if ever there be a separation between 
the free and the slave States of this Union, the wedge will 
be driven home by Northern hands ; not by indirection, 
but coolly, steadily, and with a thorough Northern deter- 
mination to open the seam. There will be no fuss about 
chivalry, but the thing will be done. I regard the meas- 
ure as very unlikely to happen, the Mississippi and its 
tributaries binding the States together, to say nothing of an- 
cestry, history, and moral ties, in a way to render a rupture 
very difficult to effect ; but, should it come at all, rely on 
it, it will come directly from the North. I am sorry to 
say there is an impatience of the threats and expedients 
that have so much disfigured Southern policy, that have 
set many at the North to ‘calculating the value and 
thousands may now be found, where ten years since it 
would not have been easy to meet with one, who deem 
separation better than union with slavery. Still, the 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*53 


general feeling of the North is passive ; and I trust it will 
so continue.” 

“ Look at the laws for the recovery of fugitives, squire, 
and the manner in which they are administered.” 

“ Bad enough, I grant you, and full of a want of good 
faith. Go to the bottom of tins subject, Timms, or let it 
alone altogether. Some men will tell you that slavery is 
a sin, and contrary to revealed religion. This I hold to be 
quite untrue. At all events, if it be a sin it is a sin to give 
the son the rich inheritance of the father, instead of divid- 
ing it among the poor; to eat a dinner while a hungrier man 
than yourself is within sound of your voice ; or, indeed, to 
do anything that is necessary and agreeable, when the act 
may be still more necessary to, or confer greater pleasure 
on, another. I believe in a Providence, and I make little 
doubt that African slavery is an important feature in God’s 
laws, instead of being disobedience to them. But enough 
of this, Timms — you will court popularity, which is your 
Archimedean lever, and forget all I tell you. Is Mary 
Monson in greater favor now than when I last saw you ? ” 

“The question is not easily answered, sir. She pays 
well, and money is a powerful screw ! ” 

“I do not inquire what you do with her money,” said 
Dunscomb, with the evasion of a man who knew that it 
would not do to . probe every weak spot in morals, any 
more than it would do to inflame the diseases of the body ; 
“ but, I own, I should like to know if our client has any 
suspicions of its uses ? ” 

Timms now cast a furtive glance behind him, and edged 
his chair nearer to his companion, in a confidential way, as 
if he would trust him with a private opinion, that he should 
keep religiously from all others. 

“Not only does she know all about it,” he answered, 
with a knowing inclination of the head, “but she enters 
into the affair, heart and hand. To my great surprise, she 
has even made two or three suggestions that were capital 
in their way ! Capital ! yes, sir ; quite capital ! If you 
were not so stiff in your practice, squire, I should delight 
to tell you all about it. She’s sharp, you may depend on 
it ! She’s wonderfully sharp ! ” 

“ What ! That refined, lady-like, accomplished young 
woman ! ” 

“ She has an accomplishment or two you’ve never 
dreamed of, squire. I’d pit her ag’in the sharpest practi- 
tioner in Dukes, and she’d come out ahead. I thought I 


iS4 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


knew something of preparing a cause ; but she has given 
hints that will be worth more to me than all her fees ! ” 

“ You do not mean that she shows experience in such 
practices ? ” 

“ Perhaps not. It seems more like mother-wit, I 
acknowledge ; but it’s mother-wit of the brightest sort. 
She understands them reporters by instinct, as it might 
be. What is more, she backs all her suggestions with 
gold, or current bank-notes.” 

“ And where can she get so much money ? ” 

“That is more than I can tell you,” returned Timms, 
opening some papers belonging to the case, and laying 
them a little formally before the senior counsel, to invite 
his particular attention. “ I’ve never thought it advisable 
to ask the question.” 

“ Timms, you do not, cannot think Mary Monson guilty ?” 

“ I never go beyond the necessary facts of a case ; and 
my opinion is of no consequence whatever. We are em- 
ployed to defend her ; and the counsel for the State are 
not about to get a verdict without working some for it. 
That’s my conscience in these matters, Squire Dunscomb.” 

Dunscomb asked no more questions. He turned gloomi- 
ly to the papers, shoved his glass aside, as if it gave him 
pleasure no longer, and began to read. For near four 
hours he and Timms were earnestly engaged in preparing 
a brief, and in otherwise getting the cause ready for trial. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Hel. Oh, that my prayefrs could such affection move, 

Her . The more I hate, the more he follows me. 

HeL The more I love, the more he hateth me. 

Her. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. 

— Midsummer Night's Dream. 

While Dunscomb and Timms were thus employed, the 
younger members of the party very naturally sought modes 
of entertainment that were more in conformity with their 
tastes and years. John Wilmeter had been invited to be 
present at the consultation ; but his old feelings were re- 
vived, and he found a pleasure in being with Anna that in- 
duced him to disregard the request. "His sister and his 
friend were now betrothed, and they had glided off along 
one of the pretty paths of the Rattletrap woods, in a way 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*55 


that is so very common to persons in their situation. This 
left Jack alone with Anna. The latter was timid, shy even; 
while the former was thoughtful. Still, it was not easy to 
separate ; and they, too, almost unconsciously to them- 
selves, were soon walking in that pleasant wood, following 
one of its broadest and most frequented paths, however. 

John, naturally enough, imputed the thoughtfulness of 
his companion to the event of the morning; and he spoke 
kindly to her, and with a gentle delicacy on the subject, 
that more than once compelled the warm-hearted girl, to 
struggle against her tears. After he had said enough on 
this topic, the young man followed the current of his own 
thoughts, and spoke of her he had left in the jail of Biberry. 

“ Her case is most extraordinary,” continued John, “ and 
it has excited our liveliest sympathy. By ours, I mean the 
disinterested and intelligent ; for the vulgar prejudice is 
strong against her. Sarah, or even yourself, Anna,” — his 
companion looked more like herself, at this implied com- 
pliment, than she had done before that day — “could not 
seem less likely to be guilty of anything wrong, than this 
Miss Monson ; yet she stands indicted, and is to be tried 
for murder and arson ! To me, it seems monstrous to sus- 
pect such a person of crimes so heinous.” 

Anna remained silent Half a minute ; for she had suffi- 
cient good sense to know that appearances, unless connect- 
ed with facts, ought to have no great weight in forming 
an opinion of guilt or innocence. As Jack evidently ex- 
pected an answer, however, his companion made an effort 
to speak. 

“ Does she say nothing of her friends, nor express a wish 
to have them informed of her situation ? ” Anna succeeded 
in asking. 

“Not a syllable. I could not speak to her on the sub- 
ject, you know ” 

“Why not ?” demanded Anna, quickly. 

“ Why not ? You’ve no notion, Anna, of the kind of per- 
son this Miss Monson is. You cannot talk to her as you 
would to an every-day sort of young lady ; and, now she is 
in such distress, one is naturally more cautious about say- 
ing anything to add to her sorrow.” 

“Yes, I can understand that” returned the generous- 
minded girl ; “and I think you are very right to remember 
all this, cm every occasion. Still, it is so natural for a fe- 
male to lean on her friends, in every great emergency, I 
cannot but wonder that your client ” 


* 5 6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Don’t call her my client , Anna, I beg of you. I hate 
the word as applied to this lady. If I serve her in any de- 
gree, it is solely as a friend. The same feeling prevails 
with Uncle Tom ; for I understand he has not received a 
cent of Miss Monson’s money, though she is liberal of it to 
profuseness. Timms is actually getting rich on it.” 

“ Is it usual for you gentlemen of the bar to give your 
services gratuitously to those who can pay for them ? ” 

“ As far from it as possible,” returned Jack, laughing 
“ We look to the main chance like so many merchants or 
brokers, and seldom open our mouths without shutting 
our hearts. But this is a case altogether out of the com- 
mon rule ; and Mr. Dunscomb works for love, and not for 
money.” 

Had Anna cared less for John Wilmeter, she might have 
said something clever about the nephew’s being in the 
same category as the uncle ; but her feelings were too 
deeply interested to suffer her even to think what would 
seem to her profane. After a moment’s pause, therefore, 
she quietly said : 

“ I believe you have intimated that Mr. Timms is not 
quite so disinterested?” 

“Not he — Miss Monson has given him fees amounting 
to a thousand dollars, by his own admission ; and the fel- 
low has had the conscience to take the money. I have re- 
monstrated about his fleecing a friendless woman in this 
extravagant manner ; but he laughs in my face for my 
pains. Timms has good points, but honesty is not one of 
them. He says no woman can be friendless who has a 
pretty face, and a pocket full of money ” 

“You can hardly call a person unfriended who has so 
much money at command, John,” Anna answered with 
timidity ; but not without manifest interest in the subject. 
“ A thousand dollars sounds like a large sum to me ! ” 

“ It is a good deal of money for a fee ; though much 
more is sometimes given. I dare say Miss Monson would 
have gladly given the same to Uncle Tom, if he would 
have taken it. Timms told me that she proposed offering 
as much to him ; but he persuaded her to wait until the 
trial was over.” 

“And where does all this money come from, John ? ” 

“I’m sure I do not know — l am not at all in Miss Mon- 
son’s confidence ; on her pecuniary affairs, at least. She 
does honor me so much as to consult me about her trial oc- 
casionally, it is true ; but to me she has never alluded to 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


T 57 


money, except to ask me to obtain change for large notes. 
I do not see anything so very wonderful in a lady’s having 
money. You, who are a sort of heiress, yourself, ought to 
know that.” 

“ I do not get money in thousands, I can assure you, 
Jack ; nor do I think that I have it to get. I believe my 
whole income would not much more than meet the ex- 
penditure of this strange woman- ” 

“ Do not call her woman , Anna ; it pains me to hear you 
speak of her in such terms.” 

“ I beg her pardon and yours, Jack ; but I meant no dis- 
respect. We are all women.” 

“ I know it is foolish to feel nervous on such a subject ; 
but I cannot help it. One connects so many ideas of vul- 
garity and crime with prisons, and indictments, and trials, 
that we are apt to suppose all who are accused to belong 
to the commoner classes. Such is not the fact with Miss 
Monson, I can assure you. Not even Sarah — nay, not 
even yourself, my dear Anna,- can pretend to more decided 
marks of refinement and education. I do not know a more 
distinguished young woman ” 

“There, Jack ; nowjF^ call her a woman yourself,” in- 
terrupted Anna, a little archly ; secretly delighted at the 
compliment she had just heard. 

“ Young woman — anybody can say that, you know, with- 
out implying anything common or vulgar , and woman , too, 
sometimes. I do not know how it was ; but I did not ex- 
actly like the word as you happened to use it. I believe 
close and long watching is making me nervous ; and I am 
not quite as much myself as usual.” 

Anna gave a very soft sigh, and that seemed to afford her 
relief, though it was scarcely audible ; then she continued 
the subject. 

“ How old is this extraordinary young lady?” she de- 
manded, scarcely speaking loud enough to be heard. 

“ Old ! How can I tell ? She is very youthful in ap- 
pearance ; but, from the circumstance of her having so 
much money at command, I take it for granted she is of 
age. The law now gives to every woman the full com- 
mand of all her property, even though married, after she 
become of age.” 

“ Which I trust you find a very proper attention to the 
rights of our sex ? ” 

“I care very little about it ; though Uncle Tom says it 
is of a piece with all our late New York legislation.” 


i 5 8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“Mr. Dunscomb, like most elderly persons, has little 
taste for change/' 

“ It is not that. He thinks that minds of an ordinary 
stamp are running away with the conceit that they are on 
the road of progress ; and that most of our recent improve- 
ments, as they are called, are marked by empiricism. This 
‘ tea-cup law,’ as he terms it, will set the women above their 
husbands, and create two sets of interests where there 
ought to be but one." 

“Yes.; I am aware such is his opinion. He remarked, 
the day he brought home my mother’s settlement for the 
signatures, that it was the most ticklish part of his profes- 
sion to prepare such papers. I remember one of his ob- 
servations, which struck me as being very just/' 

“Which you mean to repeat to me, Anna?" 

“ Certainly, John, if you wish to hear it," returned a gen- 
tle voice, coming from one unaccustomed to refuse any of 
the reasonable requests of this particular applicant. “ The 
remark of Mr. Dunscomb was this : He said that most 
family misunderstandings grew out of money ; and he 
thought it unwise to set it up as a bone of contention be- 
tween man and wife. Where there was so close a union 
in all other matters, he thought there might safely be a 
community of interests in, this respect. He saw no suffi- 
cient reason for altering the old law, which had the great 
merit of having been tried." 

“ He could hardly persuade rich fathers, and vigilant 
guardians, who have the interests of heiresses to look after, 
to subscribe to all his notions. They say that it is better 
to make a provision against imprudence and misfortune, 
by settling a woman’s fortune on herself, in a country 
where speculation tempts so many to their ruin." 

“ I do not object to anything that may have an eye to 
an evil day, provided it be done openly and honestly. But 
the income should be common property, and like all that 
belongs to a family, should pass under the control of its 
head.” 

“ It is very liberal in you to say and think this, Anna ! ” 

“ It is what every woman, who has a true woman’s heart, 
could wish, and would do. For myself, I would marry no 
man whom I did not respect and look up to in most things ; 
and surely, if I gave him my heart and my hand, I could 
wish to give him as much control over my means as cir- 
cumstances would at all allow. It might be prudent to 
provide against misfortune by means of settlements ; but 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*59 


this much done, I feel certain it would afford me the great- 
est delight to commit all that I could to a husband’s keep- 
ing.” 

“ Suppose that husband were a spendthrift, and wasted 
your estate ? ” 

“He could waste but the income, were there a settle- 
ment ; and I would rather share the consequences of his 
imprudence with him, than sit aloof in selfish enjoyment 
of that in which he did not partake.” 

All this sounded very well in John’s ears ; and he knew 
Anna Updyke too well to suppose she did not fully mean 
all that she said. He wondered what might be Mary Mon- 
son’s views on this subject. 

“ It is possible for the husband to partake of the wife’s 
wealth, even when he does not command it,” the young 
man resumed, anxious to hear what more Anna might have 
to say. 

“What! as a dependent on her bounty? No woman 
who respects herself could wish to see her husband so de- 
graded ; nay, no female, who has a true woman’s heart, 
would ever consent to place the man to whom she has 
given her hand, in so false a position. It is for the woman 
to be dependent on the man, and not the man on the woman. 
I agree fully with Mr. Dunscomb, when he says that ‘silken 
knots are too delicate to be rudely undone by dollars.’ The 
family in which the head has to ask the wife for the money 
that is to support it, must soon go wrong ; as it is placing 
the weaker vessel uppermost.” 

“You would make a capital wife, Anna, if these are 
really your opinions ! ” 

Anna blushed, and almost repented of her generous 
warmth ; but, being perfectly sincere, she would not deny 
her sentiments. 

“ They ought to be the opinion of every wife,” she an- 
swered. “ I could not endure to see the man to whom I 
could wish on all occasions to look up, soliciting the means 
on which we both subsisted. It would be my delight, if I 
had money and he had none, to pour all into his lap, and 
then come and ask of him as much as was necessary to my 
comfort.” 

“If he had the soul of a man he would not wait to be 
asked, but would endeavor to anticipate your smallest 
wants. I believe you are right, and that happiness is best 
secured bv confidence.” 

And in not reversing the laws of nature. Why do 


i6o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


women vow to obey and honor their husbands, if they 
are to retain them as dependents? I declare, John Wil- 
meter, I should almost despise the man who could consent 
to live with me on any terms but those in which nature, 
the Church, and reason, unite in telling us he ought to be 
the superior.’' 

“Well, Anna, this is good, old-fashioned, womanly senti- 
ment ; and I will confess it delights me to hear it from you. 
I am the better pleased, because, as Uncle Tom is always 
complaining, the weakness of the hour is to place your sex 
above ours, and to reverse all the ancient rules in this re- 
spect. Let a woman, nowadays, run away from her hus- 
band, and carry off the children ; it is ten to one but some 
crotchety judge, who thinks more of a character built 
up on gossip than of deferring properly to that which 
the laws of God and the wisdom of man have decreed, re- 
fuse to issue a writ of habeas corpus to restore the issue to 
the father.” 

“I do not know, John,” — Anna hesitatingly rejoined, 
with a true woman’s instinct — “ it would be so hard to rob 
a mother of her children ! ” 

“It might be hard, but in such a case it would be just . I 
like that word ‘ rob,’ for it suits both parties. To me, it 
seems that the father is the party robbed, when the wife 
not only steals away from her duty to her husband, but de- 
prives him of his children too.” 

“It is wrong, and I have heard Mr. Dunscomb express 
great indignation at what he called the ‘ soft-soapiness ’ of 
certain judges in cases of this nature. Still, John, the 
world is apt to think a woman would not abandon the 
most sacred of her duties without a cause. That feeling 
must be at the bottom of what you call the decision, I be- 
lieve, of these judges.”' 

“ If there be such a cause as would justify a woman in 
deserting her husband, and in stealing his children— for it 
is robbery after all, and robbery of the worst sort, since it 
involves breaches of faith of the most heinous nature — let 
that cause be shown, that justice may pronounce between 
the parties. Besides, it is not true that women will not 
sometimes forget their duties without sufficient cause. 
There are capricious, and uncertain, and egotistical 
women, .who follow their own wayward inclinations, as 
well as selfish men. Some women love power intensely, 
and afe never satisfied with simply filling the place that 
Was intended for them by nature. * It is hard for such to 


THE W AYS OF TILE HOUR. 


i6r 

submit to their husbands, or, indeed, to submit to any 
one.” 

“ It must be a strange female,” answered Anna, gently, 
“ who cannot suffer the control of the man of her choice, 
after quitting father and mother for his sake.” 

“Different women have different sources of pride, that 
make their husbands very uncomfortable, even when they 
remain with them, and affect to discharge their' duties. 
One will pride herself on family, and take every occasion 
to let her beloved partner know how much better she is 
connected than he may happen to be ; another is conceited, 
and fancies herself cleverer than her lord and master, and 
would fain have him take her advice on all occasions ; 
while a third may have the most money, and delight in 
letting it be known that it is her pocket that sustains the 
household.” 

“ I did not know, John, that you thought so much of 
these things,” said Anna, laughing ; “ though I think you 
are very right in your opinions. Pray, which of the 
three evils that you have mentioned would you conceive 
the greatest ? ” 

“ The second. I might stand family pride ; though 
it is disgusting when it is not ridiculous. Then the 
money might be got along with for its own sake, pro- 
vided the purse were in my hand ; but I really do not 
think I could live with a woman who fancied she knew 
the most.” 

“ But, in many things, women ought to, and do , know 
the most.” 

“ Oh ! as to accomplishments, and small talk, and mak- 
ing preserves, and dancing, and even poetry and religion 

yes, I will throw in religion — I could wish my wife to be 

clever — ver y clever — as clever as you are yourself, Anna ” 
—the fair listener colored, though her eyes brightened at 
this unintended but very direct compliment— “ yes, yes ; 
all that would do well enough. But when it came to the 
affairs of men, out-of-door concerns, or politics, or law, or 
anything, indeed, that called for a masculine education 
and understanding, I could not endure a woman who fan- 
cied she knew the most.” 

“ I should think few wives would dream of troubling 
their husbands with their opinions touching the law ! 

“ I don’t know that. You’ve no notion, Anna, to wnat 
a pass conceit can carry a person ; you, who are so diffi- 
dent and shy, and always so ready to yield to those who 


II 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


162 

ought to know best. I’ve met with women who, not 
content with arraying their own charms in their own 
ways, must fancy they can teach us how to put on our 
clothes, tell us how to turn over a wristband, or settle a 
shift-collar ! ” 

‘'This is not conceit, John, but good taste,” cried Anna, 
now laughing outright, and appearing herself again. “If 
is merely female tact teaching male awkwardness how to 
adorn itself. But, surely, no woman, John, would bother 
herself about law, let her love of domination be as strong 
as it might.” 

“ I’m not so sure t>f that. The only really complaisant 
thing I ever saw about this Mary Monson ” — a cloud again 
passed athwart the bright countenance of Anna — “was a 
sort of strange predilection for law. Fven Timms has re- 
marked it, and commented on it too.” 

“The poor woman ” 

“ Do not use that word in speaking of her, if you please, 
Anna.” 

“Weil, lady — if you like that better ” 

“ No — say young lady — or Miss Monson — or Mary, which 
has the most agreeable sound of all.” 

“Yet, I think I have been told that none of you believe - 
she has been indicted by her real name.” 

“Very true ; but it makes no difference. Call her by that 
she has assumed ; but do not call her by an alias as wretched 
as that of ‘ poor woman. ’ ” 

“ I meant no slight, I do assure you, John ; for I feel 
almost as much interest in Miss Monson as you do your- 
self. It is not surprising, however, that one in her situa- 
tion should feel an interest in the law.” 

“ It is not this sort of interest that I mean. It has seemed 
to me, once or twice, that she dealt with the difficulties of 
her own case as if she took a pleasure in meeting them— 
had a species of professional pleasure in conquering them. 
Timms will not let me into his secrets, and I am glad of it, 
for I fancy all of them would not bear the light ; but he 
tells me, honestly, that some of Miss Monson’s suggestions 
have been quire admirable ! ’“ 

“Pei naps she has been” — Anna checked herself with 
the consciousness that what she was about to utter mio-ht 
appeal to be, and, what was of still greater importance in 
her own eyes, might really be, ungenerous. 

“ Perhaps what ? Finish the sentence, I beg of you.” 

Anna shook her head. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


163 

“You intended to say that perhaps Miss Monson had 
some experience in the law, and that it gave her a certain 
satisfaction to contend with its difficulties, in consequence 
of previous training. Am I not right ? ” 

Anna would not answer in terms ; but she gave a little 
nod in assent, coloring scarlet. 

- “I knew it ; and I will be frank enough to own that 
Timms thinks the same thing. He has hinted as much as 
that ; but the thing is impossible. You have only to look 
at her to see that such a thing is impossible.” 

Anna Updyke thought that almost anything of the sort 
might be possible to a female who was in the circumstances 
of the accused ; this, however, she would not say, lest it 
might wound John’s feelings, for which she had all the 
tenderness of warm affection, and a woman’s self-denial. 
Had the case been reversed, it is by no means probable 
that her impulsive companion would have manifested the 
same forbearance on her account. John would have con- 
tended for victory, and pressed his adversary with all the 
arguments, facts and reasons he could muster, on such an 
occasion. Not so with the gentler and more thoughtful 
young woman who was now walking quietly, and a little 
sadly, at his side, instinct with all the gentleness; self- 
denial, and warm-hearted affection of her sex. 

“No, it is worse than an absurdity” — resumed John — 

“it is cruel to imagine anything of the sort of Miss 

By the way, Anna, do you know that a very singular thing 
occurred last evening, before I drove over to town, to be 
present at the wedding. You know Marie Mill ?” 

“ Certainly — Marie Moulin, you should say.” 

“Well, in answering one of her mistress’s questions, she 
said ‘ oui, madam e. ’ ” 

“ What would you have her say ? — * non , madame ’ ?” 

“ But why madame at all ? Why not mademoiselle ? ” 

“ It would be very vulgar to say ‘Yes, miss,’ in English.” 

“To be sure it would; but it is very different in French. 
One can say — must say mademoiselle to a young unmarried 
female in that language ; though it be vulgar to say miss, 
without the name, in English. French, you know, Anna, 
is a much more precise language than our own ; and those 
who speak it do not take the liberties with it that we take 
with the English. Madame always infers a married woman ; 
unless, indeed, it be with a woman a hundred years old.” 

“ No French woman is ever that , John— but it is odd that 
Marie Moulin, who so well understands the usages of her 


164 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


own little world, should have said madame to a demoiselle. 
Have I not heard, nevertheless, that Marie’s first salu- 
tation, when she was admitted to the jail, was a simple ex- 
clamation of ‘ mademoiselle ’ ? ” 

“That is very true; for I heard it myself. What is 
more, that exclamation w r as almost as remarkable as this ; 
French servants always adding the name under such cir- 
cumstances, unless they are addressing their own particular 
mistresses. Madame and mademoiselle are appropriated 
to those they serve ; while it is mademoiselle this, or 
madame that, to every one else.” 

“ And now she calls her mademoiselle or madame ! It only 
proves that too much importance is not to be attached to 
Marie Moulin’s sayings and doings.” 

“ I’m not so sure of that. Marie has been three years in 
this country, as we all know. Now the young person that 
she left a mademoiselle might very well have become a 
madame in that interval of time. When they met, the 
domestic may have used the old and familiar term in her 
surprise ; or she may not have known of the lady’s mar- 
riage. Afterward, when there had been leisure for ex- 
planations between them, she gave her mistress her proper 
appellation.” 

“Does she habitually say madame now, in speaking to 
this singular being ? ” 

“ Habitually she is silent. Usually she remains in the 
cell when any one is with Miss — or Mrs. Monson, perhaps 
I ought to say” — John used this last term with a strong 
expression of spite, which gave his companion a sup- 
pressed but infinite delight — “but when anyone is with 
the mistress, call her what you will, the maid commonly 
remains in the dungeon or cell. Owing to this, I have 
never been in the way of hearing the last address the first, 
except on the two occasions named. I confess I begin to 
think ” 

“What, John ?” 

“ Why, that our Miss Monson may turn out to be a mar- 
ried woman, after all.” 

“ She is very young, is she not ? Almost too young to 
be a wife ? ” 

“Not at all! What do you call too young? She is 
between, twenty and twenty-two or three. She may even be 
twenty-five or six.” 

Anna sighed, though almost imperceptibly to herself ; 
for these were ages that well suited her companion, though 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


165 


the youngest exceeded her own by a twelvemonth. Little 
more, however, was said on the subject at that inter- 
view. 

It is one of the singular effects of the passion of love, 
more especially with the generous-minded and just of the 
female sex, that a lively interest is often awakened in 
behalf of a successful or favored rival. Such was now the 
fact as regards the feeling that Anna Updyke began to 
entertain toward Mary Monson. The critical condition of 
the lady would of itself excite interest where it failed to 
produce distrust ; but the circumstance that John Wil- 
meter saw so much to admire in this unknown female, if 
he did not actually loVe her, gave her an importance in the ' 
eyes of Anna that at once elevated her into an object of 
the highest interest. She was seized with the liveliest 
desire to see the accused, and began seriously to reflect on 
the possibility of effecting such an end. No vulgar curios- 
ity Vas mingled with this new-born purpose; but, .in ad- 
dition to the motives that were connected with John’s state 
of mind, there was a benevolent and truly feminine wish, 
on the part of Anna, to be of service to one of her own 
sex, so cruelly placed, and cut off, as it would seem, from 
all communication with those who should be her natural 
protectors and advisers. 

Anna Updyke gathered, through that which had fallen 
from Wilmeter and his sister, that the intercourse between 
the former and his interesting client had been of the most 
reserved character ; therein showing a discretion and self- 
respect on the part of the prisoner, that spoke well for her 
education and delicacy. How such a woman came to be 
in the extraordinary position in which she was placed, was 
of course as much a mystery to her as to all others ; 
though, like every one else who knew aught of the case, 
she indulged in conjectures of her own on the subject. 
Being of a particularly natural and frank disposition, with- 
out a particle of any ungenerous or detracting quality, and 
filled with woman’s kindness in her very soul, this noble- 
minded young woman began now to feel far more than an 
idle curiosity in behalf of her who had so lately caused 
herself so much pain, not to say bitterness of anguish. 
All was forgotten in pity for the miserable condition of the 
unconscious offender; unconscious, for Anna was suffi- 
ciently clear-sighted and just to see and to admit that, if 
John had been led astray by the charms and sufferings 
of this stranger, the fact could not rightfully be imputed 


i66 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


to the last, as a fault. Every statement of John’s went to 
confirm this act of justice to the stranger. 

Then, the unaccountable silence of Marie Moulin doubled 
the mystery and greatly increased the interest of the whole 
affair. This woman had gone to Biberry pledged to com- 
municate to Sarah all she knew or might learn, touching 
the accused ; and well did Anna know that her friend 
would make her the repository of her own information, on 
this as well as on other subjects ; but a most unaccount- 
able silence governed the course of the domestic, as well 
as that of her strange mistress. It really seemed that, 
in passing the principal door of the jail, Marie Moulin 
had buried herself in a convent, where all communica- 
tion with the outer world was forbidden. Three several 
letters from Sarah had John handed in at the grate, certain 
that they must have reached the hands of the Swiss ; but no 
answer had been received. All attempts to speak to Marie 
were quietly, but most ingeniously evaded by the tact and 
readiness of the prisoner; and the hope of obtaining in- 
formation from that source was abandoned by Sarah, who 
was too proud to solicit a servant for that which the last 
was reluctant to communicate. With Anna the feeling 
was different. She had no curiosity on the subject, sepa- 
rated from a most generous and womanly concern in the 
prisoner’s forlorn state ; and she thought far less of Marie 
Moulin’s disrespect and forgetfulness of her word than of 
Mary Monson’s desolation and approaching trial. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Was it for this we sent out 
Liberty’s cry from our shore ? 

Was it for this that her shout 
Thrill’d to the world’s very core ? 

— Moore's National Airs. 

The third day after the interviews just related, the whole 
party left Rattletrap for Timbully, where their arrival was 
expected by the bride and bridegroom, if such terms can 
be applied to a woman of forty-five and a man of sixty. 
The Dukes County circuit and oyer and terminer were 
about to beheld, and it was believed that Mary Monson 
was to be tried. By this time so lively an interest pre- 
vailed among the ladies of the McBrain and Dunscomb 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


167 


connections in behalf of the accused, that they had all 
come to a determination to be present in court. Curiosity 
was not so much at the bottom of this movement as wom- 
anly kindness and sympathy. There seemed a bitterness 
of misery in the condition of Mary Monson, that appealed 
directly to the heart ; and that silent but eloquent appeal 
was answered, as has just been stated, generously and with 
warmth by the whole party from town. With Anna Up- 
dyke the feeling went materially further than with any of 
her friends. Strange as it may seem, her interest in John 
increased that which she felt for his mysterious client ; 
and her feelings became enlisted in the stranger’s behalf, 
so much the more, in consequence of this triangular sort 
of passion. 

The morning of the day on which the party crossed the 
country from Rattletrap to Timbully, Timms arrived at the 
latter place. He was expected, and was soon after clos- 
eted with the senior counsel in the pending and most im- 
portant cause. 

“ Does the district attorney intend to move for the trial ?” 
demanded Dunscomb, the instant the two were alone. 

“He tells me he does, sir ; and that early in the week, 
too. It is my opinion we should go for postponement. We 
are hardly ready, while the State is too much so.”, 

“ I do not comprehend this, Timms. The law officers of 
the public would hardly undertake to run down a victim, 
and she a solitary and unprotected woman ! ” 

“That’s not it. The law officers of the State don’t care 
a straw whether Mary Monson is found guilty or is acquit- 
ted. That is, they care nothing about it at present. The 
case may be different when they are warmed up by a trial 
and opposition. Our danger comes from Jesse Davis, 
who is a nephew of Peter Goodwin, his next of kin and 
heir, and who thinks a great deal of money was hoarded 
by the old people ; much more than the stocking ever 
held or could hold, and who has taken it into his wise 
head that the prisoner has laid hands on this treasure, 
and is carrying on her defence with his cash. This has 
roused him completely, and he has retained two of the 
sharpest counsel on our circuit, who are beginning to 
work as if the bargain has been clinched in the hard metal. 
Williams has given me a great deal of trouble already. I 
know him ; he will not work without pay ; but pay him 
liberally, and he is up to anything.” 

. “Ay, you are diamond cut diamond, Timms — outsiders 


i68 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


in the profession. You understand that I work only in 
the open court, and will know nothing of this out-door 
management.” 

“We do not mean to let you know anything about it, 
squire,” returned Timms, dryly. “ Each man to his own 
manner of getting along. I ought to tell you, however, it 
has gone out that vou are working without a fee, while I 
am paid in the most liberal manner.” 

“ I am sorry for that. There is no great harm in the 
thing itself ; but I dislike the parade of seeming to be un- 
usually generous. I do not remember to have spoken of 
this circumstance where it would be likely to be repeated ; 
and I beg you will be equally discreet.” 

“The fact has not come from me, I can assure you, sir. 
It puts me in too awkward a position to delight me ; and I 
make it a point to say as little as possible of what is dis- 
agreeable. I do not relish the idea of being thought self- 
ish by my future constituents. Giniros’ty is my cue be- 
fore them. But they say you work for love, sir.” 

“ Love ! ” answered Dunscomb, quickly — “ Love of what ? 
or of whom ? ” 

“Of your client — that’s the story now. It is said that 
you admire Miss Monson ; that she is young, and hand- 
some, and rich ; and she is to marry you, if acquitted. If 
found guilty and hanged, the bargain is off, of course. 
You may look displeased, squire ; but I give you my word 
such is the rumor.” 

Dunscomb was extremely vexed ; but he was too proud 
to make any answer. He knew that he had done that 
which, among the mass of this nation, is a very capital 
mistake, in not placing before its observation an intelligible 
motive — one on the level of the popular mind — to prevent 
these freaks of the fancy dealing with his affairs. It is 
true, that the natural supposition would be that he worked 
for his fee, as did Timms, had not the contrary got out ; 
when he became ' subject to all the crude conjectures of 
those who ever look for the worst motives for everything. 
Had he been what is termed a favorite public servant, the 
very reverse would have been the case, and there was lit- 
tle that he might not have done with impunity ; but, hav- 
ing no such claims on the minds pf the mass, he came 
under the common law which somewhat distinguishes their 
control. Too much disgusted, however, to continue this 
branch of the subject, the worthy counsellor at once ad- 
verted to another. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 169 

“ Have you looked over the list of the jurors, Timms?” 
he demanded, continuing to sort his papers. 

“That I never fail to do, sir, the first thing. It’s my 
brief, you know, Squire Dunscomb. All safe York law, 
nowadays, is to be found in that learned body; especially 
in criminal cases. There is but one sort of suit m which 
the jury counts for nothing, and might as well be dispensed 
with.” 

“ Which is — ? ” 

“An ejectment cause. It’s not one time in ten that they 
understand anything about the matter, or care anything 
about it ; and the court usually leads in those actions — but 
our Dukes County juries are beginning to understand their 
powers in all others.” 

“ What do you make of the list ? ” 

“ It’s what I call reasonable, squire. There are two 
men on it who would not hang Cain, were he indicted 
for the murder of Abel.” 

“ Quakers, of course ? ” 

“ Not they. The time was when we were reduced to 
the ‘thee’s,’ and the ‘ thou’s,’ for this sort of support ; but 
philanthropy is abroad, sir, covering the land. Talk of 
the schoolmaster ! Why, squire, a new philanthropical 
idee will go two feet to the schoolmaster’s one. Pro-nigger, 
anti-gallows, eternal peace, woman’s rights, the people’s 
power, and anything of that sort sweeps like a tornado 
through the land. Get a juror who has ju^t co.me into 
the anti-gallows notion, and I would defy r ,the state to 
hang a body-snatcher who lived by murdering his sub- 
jects.” 

“And you count on two of these partisans for our 
case ! ” 

“Lord, no, sir. The district attorney himself knows 
them both ; and Davis’s counsel have been studying that 
list for the last week, as if it were Blackstone in the hands 
of a new beginner. I can tell you, Squire Dunscomb, 
that the jury-list is a most important part of a case out 
here in the country ! ” 

“ I am much afraid it is, Timms ; though I never exam- 
ined one in my life.” 

“ I can believe you, sir, from what I have seen of your 
practice. But principles and facts won’t answer in an age 
of the world when men are ruled by talk and prejudice. 
There is not a case of any magnitude tried, nowadays, 
without paying proper attention to the jury. We are pretty 


170 


.THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


well off, on the whole ; and I am tolerably sanguine of a 
disagreement, though I fear an acquittal is quite out of the 
question.” 

“You rely on one or two particularly intelligent and 
disinterested men, ha ! Timms ? ” 

“ I rely on five or six particularly ignorant and heated 
partisans, on the contrary; men who have been reading 
about the abolishing of capital punishments, and who, in 
gin’ral, because ‘they’ve got hold of some notions that 
have been worn out as far back as the times of the Caesars, 
fancy themselves philosophers and the children of progress. 
The country is getting to be full of what I call donkeys 
and racers ; the donkey is obstinate, and backs going up- 
hill ; while the racers will not only break their own necks, 
but those of their riders too, unless^ they hold up long 
before they reach their goal.” 

“I did not know, Timms, that you think so much on 
such subjects. To me, you have always appeared to be 
a purely working-man — no theorist.” 

“It is precisely because I am a man of action, and live 
in the world, and see things as they were meant to be 
seen, that I laugh at your theories. Why, sir, this country, 
in my judgment, for the time being, could much better 
get along without preaching, than without hanging. I 
don’t say always ; for there is no telling yet what is to be 
the upshot of preaching. It may turn out as many think ; 
in which case human natur’ will undergo a change that 
will prettymuch destroy our business. Such a state of 
things would be worse for the bar, squire, than the Code 
or the last fee-bill.” 

“I’m not so sure of that, Timms ; there are few things 
worse than this infernal Code.” 

“ Well, to my taste, the fee-bill is the most disagreeable 
of the two. A man can stand any sort of law, and any sort 
of practice ; but he can’t stand any sort of pay. I hear the 
circuit is to be held by one of the new judges — a people’s 
man, altogether.” 

“ You mean by that, I suppose, Timms, one of those who 
-did not hold office under the old system ! It is said that 
the new broom sweeps clean — it is fortunate ours has not 
brushed away all the old incumbents.” 

“No, that is to come ; and come it will, as sure as the 
sun rises. We must have rotation on the bench, as well as 
in all other matters. You see, squire, rotation is a sort of 
claim with many men. who have no other. They fancy the 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR, 


17 J 

earth to have been created on a sort of Jim Crow principle-, 
because it turns round.” 

“That is it; and it explains the clamor that is made 
about it. But to return to this jury, Timms ; on the whole, 
you like it, I should infer?” 

“ Not too well, by any means. There are six or eight 
names on the list that I’m always glad to see ; for they be- 
long to men who are friendly to me ” 

“ Good God, man — it cannot be possible that you count 
on such assistants in a trial for a human life !” 

“Not count on it, Squire Dunscomb ! I count on it 
from an action of trespass on the case, to this indictment 
— count on it, quite as much, and a good deal more ration- 
ally, than you count on your law and evidence. Did’nt I 
carry that heavy case for the railroad company on that 
principle altogether? The law was dead against us, they 
say, and the facts were against us ; but the verdict was in 
our favor. That’s what I call practising law !” 

“ Yes ; I remember to have heard of that case, and it 
was always a wonder with the bar how you got along with 
it. Had it been a verdict against a corporation, no one 
would have thought anything of it — but to carry a bad case 
for a company, nowadays, is almost an unheard-of thing.” 

“ You are quite right, sir. 1 can beat any railroad in the 
State, with a jury of a neighborhood, let the question or 
facts be what they may ; but, in this instance, I beat the 
neighborhood, and all through the faith the jury had in 
me. It’s a blessed institution, this of the 'jury, Squire 
Dunscomb ! no doubt it makes us the greats glorious, and 
free people that we are ! ” 

“If the bench continues to lose its influence as it has 
done, the next twenty years will see it a curse of the worst 
character. It is now little more than a popular cabal in all 
cases in the least calculated to awaken popular feeling or 
prejudice.” 

“ There’s the rub in this capital case of ours. Mary 
Monson has neglected popularity altogether ; and she is 
likely to suffer for it.” ' 

“ Popularity ! ” exclaimed Dunscomb, in a tone of hor- 
ror — “ and this in a matter of life and death ! What are 
we coming to in the law, as well as in politics ! No public 
man is to be found of sufficient moral courage, or intellect- 
ual force, to stem this torrent ; which is sweeping away 
everything before it. But in what has our client failed, 
Timms ? ” 


172 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“In almost everything connected with this one great 
point ; and what vexes me is her wonderful power of 
pleasing, which is completely thrown away. Squire Duns- 
comb, I would carry this county for Free Sile or ag’n it, 
with that lady to back me, as a wife.” 

“ What if she should refuse to resort to popular airs and 
graces ? ” 

“ I mean, of course, she aiding and abetting. I would 
give the world, now, could we get the judge into her com- 
pany for half an hour. It would make a friend of him ; 
and it is still something to have a friend in the judge in a 
criminal case.” 

“You may well say ‘still,’ Timms ; how much longer it 
will be so, is another matter. Under the old system it 
would be hopeless to expect so much complaisance in a 
judge ; but I will not take it on myself to say what a peo- 
ple’s judge will not do.” 

“ If I thought the thing could be managed, by George, I 
would attempt it ! The grand jurors visit the jails, and 
why not the judges? What do you think, sir, of an anony- 
mous letter hinting to his honor that a visit to Mrs. Gott 
— who is an excellent creature in her way — might serve the 
ends of justice ! ” 

“ As I think of all underhanded movements and trickery. 
No, no, Timms ; you had better let our client remain un- 
popular, than undertake anything of this nature.” 

“ Perhaps you are right, sir. Unpopular she is, and 
will be as long as she pursues her present course ; whereas 
she might carry all classes of men with her. For my part, 
Squire Dunscomb, I’ve found this young lady” — here 
Timms paused, hemmed, and concluded by looking a little 
foolish — a character of countenance by no means common 
with one of his shrew T dness and sagacity. 

“ So, so, Master Timms,” said the senior counsel, re- 
garding the junior with a sort of sneer — “ you are as great 
a fool as my nephew, Jack Wilmeter ; and have fallen in 
love with a pretty face, in spite of the grand jury and the 
gallows ! ” 

Timms gave a gulp, seemed to catch his breath, and re- 
gained enough of his self-command to be able to answer. 

“ I’m in hopes that Mr. Wilmeter will think better of 
this, sir,” he said, “ and turn his views to a quarter where 
they will be particularly acceptable. It would hardly do 
for a young gentleman of his expectations to take a wife 
o'ut of a jail.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


*73 


“ Enough of this foolery, Timms, and come to the point. 
Your remarks about popularity may have some sense in 
them, if matters have been pushed too far in a contrary 
direction. Of what do you complain ?” 

“ In the first place, she will not show herself at the win- 
dows ; and that offends a great many persons who think it 
proud and aristocratic in her not to act as other criminals 
act. Then, she has made a capital mistake with a leading 
reporter, who sent in his name, and desired an interview ; 
which she declined granting. She will hear from that man, 
depend on it, sir.” 

“ I shall look to him, then — for, though this class of 
men is fast putting the law under foot, it may be made to 
turn on them, by one who understands it, and has the 
courage to use it. I shall not allow the rights of Mary 
Monson to be invaded by such a fungus of letters.” 

“Fungus of letters! Ahem — if it was anybody but 
yourself, squire, that I was talking to, I might remind you 
that these funguses flourish on the dunghill of the com- 
mon mind.” 

“No matter ; the law can be made to touch them, when 
in good hands ; and mine have now some experience. 
Has this reporter resented the refusal of the prisoner to 
see him ? ” 

“ He is squinting that way, and has got himself sent to 
Biberry by two or three journals, to report the progress 
of the trial. I know the man ; he is vindictive, impudent, 
and always uses his craft to indulge his resentments.” 

“Ay, many of those gentry are up to that. Is it not 
surprising, Timms, that, in a country forever boasting of 
its freedom, men do not see how much abuse there is of a 
very important interest, in suffering these irresponsible 
tyrants to ride rough-shod over the community ? ” 

“ Lord, squire, it is not with the reporters only that 
abuses are to be found. I was present, the other day, at a 
conversation between a judge and a great town lawyer, 
when the last deplored the state of the juries! ‘What 
would you have?” says his honor; ‘angels sent down 
from Heaven to fill the jury-boxes?’ Wall” — Timms 
never could get over the defects of his early associations 
— “ Waal, squire,” he continued, with a shrewd leer of the 
eyes, “ I thought a few saints might be squeezed in be- 
tween the lowest angel in Heaven and the average of our 
Dukes County panels. This is a great fashion of talking 
that is growing up among us to meet an objection by cry- 


174 


THE WAYS OF.. THE HOUR. 


ingout, ‘Men are not angels as if some men are not 
better than others.” 

“ The institutions clearly maintain that some men are 
better than others, Timms ! ” 

“ That’s news to me, I will own. I thought the institu- 
tions declared all men alike — that is, all white men ; I 
know that the niggers are nonsuited.” 

“ They are unsuited, at least, according to the spirit of 
the institutions. If all men are supposed to be alike, 
what use is there in the elections ? Why not draw lots for 
office, as we draw lots for juries ? Choice infers inequali- 
ties, or the practice is an absurdity. But here comes 
McBrain, with a face so full of meaning, he must have 
something to tell us.” 

Sure enough, the bridegroom-physician came into the 
room at that instant ; and without circumlocution he en- 
tered at once on the topic that was then uppermost in his 
mind. It was the custom of the neighborhood to profit by 
the visits of this able practitioner to his country-place, by 
calling on him for advice in such difficult cases as existed 
anywhere in the vicinity of Timbully. Even his recent 
marriage did not entirely protect him from these appeals, 
which brought so little pecuniary advantage as to be 
gratuitous ; and lie had passed much of the last two days 
in making professional visits in a circle around his resi- 
dence that included Biberry. Such were the means by 
which he had obtained the information that now escaped 
from him, as it might be, involuntarily. 

“ I have never known so excited a state of the public 
mind,” he cried, “as now exists all around Biberry, on the 
subject of your client, Tom, and this approaching trial. 
Go where I may, see whom I will, let the disease be as 
serious as possible, all, patients, parents, friends and 
nurses, commence business with asking me what I think 
of Mary Monson, and of her guilt or innocence.” 

“That’s because you are married, Ned” — Dunscomb 
coolly answered. “Now no one thinks of putting such a 
question to ?ne. I see lots of people, as well as yourself ; 
but not a soul has asked me whether I thought Mary 
Monson guilty or innocent.” 

“ Poh ! you are her. counsel, and no one could take the 
liberty. I. dare say that even Mr. Timms, here, your 
associate, has never compared notes with you on that par- 
ticular point.” 

Timms was clearly not quite himself ; and he did not 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


x 75 

look as shrewd as he once would have done at such a 
remark. He kept in the background, and was content to 
listen. 

“ I do suppose association with a brother in the law, and 
in a case of life and death, is something like matrimony, 
Dr. McBrain. A good deal must be taken for granted, 
and not a little on credit. As a man is bound to believe 
his wife the most excellent, virtuous, most amiable and 
best creature on earth, so is a counsel bound to consider ins 
client innocent. The relation, in each case, is confiden- 
tial, however ; and I shall not pry into your secrets, any 
more than I shall betray one of my own.” 

“ I asked for none, and wish none ; but one may ex- 
press surprise at the intense degree of excitement that 
prevails all through Dukes, and even the adjacent 
counties.” 

“The murder of a man and his wife in cold blood, ac- 
companied by robbery and arson, are enough to arouse 
the community. In this particular case the feeling of in- 
terest is increased, I make no doubt, by the extraordinary 
character, as well as by the singular mystery, of the party 
accused. I have had many clients, Ned, but never one 
like this before ; as you have had many wives, but no one 
so remarkable as the present Mrs. McBrain.” 

“Your time will come yet, Master Dunscomb — recollect 
I have always prognosticated that.” 

“ You forget that I am approaching sixty. A man’s 
heart is as hard and dry as a bill in chancery, at that age — 
but, I beg your pardon, Ned ; you are an exception.” 

“ I certainly believe than a man can have affections, 
even at four score — and what is more, I believe that when 
the reason and judgment come in aid of the passions ” 

Dunscomb laughed outright ; nay, he even gave a little 
shout, his bachelor habits having rendered him more 
exuberant in manner than might otherwise have been the 
ease. 

“Passions!” he cried, rubbing his hands, and looking- 
round for Timms, that he might have some one to share 
in what he regarded as a capital joke. “ The passions of 
a fellow of three-score ! Ned, you do not flatter yourself 
that you have been marrying the Widow Updyke in con- 
sequence of any passion you feel for her ? ” 

“ I do, indeed,” returned the doctor, with spirit ; muster- 
ing resolution to carry the war into the enemy s country. 
“ Let me tell you, Tom Dunscomb, that a warm-hearted 


176 


THE W A VS OF THE HOUR. 


fellow can love a woman dearly, long after the age you 
have mentioned— that is, provided he has not let all feel- 
ing die within him, for want of watering a plant that is the 
most precious boon of a most gracious Providence.” 

“ Ay, if he begin at twenty, and keep even pace with his 
beloved down the descent of time.” 

“That may ail be true ; but, if it has been his misfort- 
une to lose one partner, a second ” 

“ And a third, Ned, a third — why not foot the bill at 
once, as they say in the market ? ” 

“ Well, a third, too, if circumstances make that demand 
on him. Anything is better than leaving the affections to 
stagnate for want of cultivation.” 

“Adam in Paradise, by Jove! But I’ll not reproach 
you again, since you have got so gentle and kind a creature, 
and one who is twenty years your junior ” 

“ Only eighteen, if you please, Mr. Dunscomb.” 

“ Now I should be glad to know whether you have add- 
ed those two years to the bride’s age, or subtracted them 
from that of the bridegroom ! I suppose the last, however, 
as a matter of course.” 

“ I do not well see how you can suppose any such thing, 
knowing my age as well as you do. Mrs. McBrain is forty- 
two, an age when a woman can be as lovable as at nine- 
teen — more so, if her admirer happens to be a man of 
sense.” 

“ And sixty-two. Well, Ned, you are incorrigible ; and, 
for the sake of the excellent woman who has consented to 
have you, I only hope this will be the last exhibition of 
your weakness: So they talk a good deal of Mary Mon- 
son, up and down the country, do they ? ” 

“ Of little else, I can assure you. I am sorry to say, the 
tide seems to be setting strongly against her.” 

“That is bad news ; as few jurors, nowadays, are supe- 
rior to such an influence. What is said, in particular, Dr. 
McBrain ? In the way of facts, I mean ?” 

“ One report is that the accused is full of money ; and 
that a good deal of that which she is scattering broadcast 
has-been seen by. different persons, at different times, in 
the possession of the deceased Mrs. Goodwin.” 

“Let them retail the lie, far and near, squire, and we’ll 
turn it to good account,” said Timms, taking out his note- 
book, and writing down what he had just heard. “ I have 
reason to think that every dollar MaryMonson has uttered 
since her confinement ” 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR. 


177 


“ Imprisonment would be a better word, Mr. Timms,” 
interrupted the doctor. 

“ I see no great difference,” replied the literal attorney 
— “ but imprisonment, if you prefer it. I have reason to 
think that every dollai' Mary Monson has put in circulation 
since she entered the jail at Biberry, has come from either 
young Mr. Wilmeter or myself, in exchange for hundred- 
dollar notes — and, in one instance, for a note of five hun- 
dred dollars. She is well off, I can tell you, gentlemen ; 
and if she is to be executed, her executor will have some- 
thing to do when all is over.” 

“ You do not intend to allow her to be hanged, Timms ?” 
demanded McBrain, aghast. 

“Not if I can help it, doctor; and this lie about the 
money, when clearly disproved, will be of capital service 
to her. Let them circulate it as much as they please, the 
rebound will be in proportion to the blow. The more they 
circulate that foolish rumor, the better it will be for our 
client when we come to trial.” 

“ I suppose you are right, Timms ; though I could pre- 
fer plainer dealings. A cause in which you are employed, 
however, must have more or less of management.” 

“Which is better, squire, than your law and evidence. 
But what else has Dr. McBrain to tell us ?” 

“ 1 hear that Peter Goodwin’s nephew, who it seenL had 
some expectations from the old people, is particularly sav- 
ag'e, and leaves no stone, unturned to get up a^ popular 
feeling against the accused.” 

“ Fie had best beware,” said Dunscomb, his usually col- 
orless but handsome face flushing as he spoke. “I shall 
not trifle in a matter of this sort — ha ! Timms ? ” 

“Lord bless you, squire, Dukes County folks wouldn’t 
understand a denial of the privilege to say what they please 
in a case of this sort. They fancy this is liberty; and 
‘touch my honor, take your poker,’ is. not more sensitive 
than the feelin’ of liberty in these parts. I’m afraid that 
not only this Joe Davis, but the reporters, will say just 
what they please ; and Mary Monson’s rights will whistle 
for it. You will remember that our judge is not only a 
brand-new one, but he drew the two years’ term into the 
bargain. No, I think it will be wisest to let the law, and 
old principles, and the right, and true liberty, quite alone ; 
and to bow the knee to things as they are. A good deal 
is said about our fathers, and their wisdom, and patriotism, 
and sacrifices ; but nobody dreams of doing as they did . , or 


J2 


i 7 8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

of reasoning as they reasoned. Life is made up, in reality, 
of these little matters in a corner ; while the great princi- 
ples strut about in buckram, for men to admire them and 
talk about them. I do take considerable delight, Squire 
Dunscomb, in hearing you enlarge on a principle, whether 
it be in law, morals, or politics ; but I should no more 
think of practising on ’em, than I should think of refusing 
a thousand dollar fee.” 

“ Is that your price ?” demanded McBrain, with curios- 
ity. “ Do you work for as large a sum as that, in this case, 
Timms ? ” 

“ I’m paid, doctor ; just as you was ” — the attorney never 
stuck at grammar — “just as you was for that great opera- 
tion on the Wall Street Millenary’ian ” 

“ Millionaire, you mean, Timms,” said Dunscomb, coolly 
— “ it means one worth a million.” 

“ I never attempt a foreign tongue but I stumble,” said 
the attorney, simply ; for he knew that both his friends 
were familiar with his origin, education, and advancement 
in life, and that it was wisest to deny nothing to them; 
“but since I have been so much with Mary Monson and 
her woman, I do own a desire to speak the language they 
use.” 

Again Dunscomb regarded his associate jntently ; some- 
thing comical gleaming in his eye. 

“Timms, you have fallen in love with your handsome 
client,” he quietly remarked. 

“No, sir; not quite as bad as that, yet ; though I will 
acknowledge that the lady is very interesting. Should 
she be acquitted, and could we only get some knowledge 
of her early history — why, that might put a new face on 
matters.” 

“ I must drive over to Biberry in the morning, and have 
another interview with the lady myself. And now, Ned, 
I will join your wife, and read an epithalamium prepared 
for this great occasion. You need not trouble yourself to 
follow, the song being no novelty ; for I have read it twice 
before on your account.” 

A hearty laugh at his own wit concluded the discourse 
on the part of the great York counsellor ; though Timms 
remained some time longer with the doctor, questioning 
the latter touching opinions and facts gleaned by the phy- 
sician in the course of his circuit. 


THE WAYS OF' THE HOUR. 


179 


CHAPTER XIV. 

From his brimstone bed at break of day, 

A- walking the devil is gone, 

To visit his little snug farm of the earth, 

And see how his stock went on. — C oleridge. 

Dunscomb was as good as his word. Next morning he 
was on his way to Biberry. He was thoughtful ; had laid 
a bundle of papers on the front seat of the carriage, and 
went his way musing and silent. Singularly enough, his 
only companion was Anna Updyke, who had asked a seat 
in the carriage timidly, but with an earnestness that pre- 
vailed. Had Jack Wilmeter been at Biberry, this request 
would not have been made ; but she knew he was in town, 
and that she might make the little excursion without the 
imputation of indelicacy, so far as he was concerned. Her 
object w r ill appear in the course of the narrative. 

The “best tavern” in Biberry was kept by Daniel Hor- 
ton. The wife of this good man had a native propensity 
to talk that had been essentially cultivated in the course 
of five-and-twenty years’ practice in the inn where she had 
commenced her career as maid; and was now finishing it 
as mistress. As is common with persons of her class, she 
knew hundreds of those who frequented her house ; call- 
ing each readily by name, and treating every one with a 
certain degree of professional familiarity that is far from 
uncommon in country inns. 

“Mr. Dunscomb, I declare!” cried this woman, as she 
entered the room and found the counsellor and his com- 
panion in possession of her best parlor. “ This is a pleas- 
ure I did not expect until the circuit. It’s quite twenty 
years, squire, since I had the pleasure of first waiting 
on you in this house. And a pleasure it has always 
been ; for I’ve not forgotten the ejectment suit that you 
carried for Horton when we was only new beginners. I 
am glad to see you, sir ; welcome to Biberry, as is this 
young lady, who is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Duns- 
comb.” 

“You forget that I am a bachelor, Mrs. Horton — no 
marrying man, in any sense of the word.” 

“ I might have known that, had I reflected a moment ; 
for they say Mary Monson employs none but bachelors 


i8o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


and widowers in her case ; and you are her counsel, I 
know.” 

“ This is a peculiarity of which I was not aware. Timms 
is a bachelor, certainly, as well as myself ; but to whom 
else can you allude? Jack Wilmeter, my nephew, can 
hardly be said to be employed at all ; nor, for that matter, 
Michael Millington ; though neither is married.” 

“ Yes, sir ; we know both of the last well, they having 
lodged with us. If young Mr. Wilmeter is single, I fancy 
it is not his own fault ” — here Mrs. Horton looked very 
wise, but continued talking — “ Young gentlemen of a good 
appearance and handsome fortunes commonly have not 
much difficulty in getting wives — not as much as young 
ladies; for you men make the law, and you give your own 
sex the best chance, almost as a matter of course — - — ” 

“ Pardon me, Mrs. Horton,” interrupted Dunscomb, a 
little formally, like one who felt great interest in the sub- 
ject — “you were remarking that we have the best chance 
of getting married ; and here have I been a bachelor all 
my life, trying in vain to enter into the happy state of 
matrimony — if, indeed, it deserve to be so termed.” 

“ It could not be very difficult for you to find a com- 
panion,” said the landlady, shaking her head ; u and for 
the reason I have just given.” 

“ Which was- ? ” 

“That you men have made the laws, and profit by them. 
You can ask whom you please ; but a woman is obliged to 
wait to be, asked.” 

“You never were in a greater mistake in your life, I do 
assure you, my good Mrs. Horton. There is no such law 
on the subject. Any woman may put the question, as well 
as any man. This was the law, and I don’t think the Code 
has changed it.” 

“ Yes, I know that well enough — and get laughed at, and 
pointed at, for her pains. I know that a good deal is said 
about leap-year ; but who ever heard of a woman’s putting 
the question ? I fancy that even Mary Monson would 
think twice before she took so bold a step once.” 

“ Mary Monson ! ” exclaimed Dunscomb, suddenly turn- 
ing toward his hostess — “ Has she a reputation for being 
attentive to gentlemen?” 

“Not that I know of; but ” 

“ Then allow me to say, my good Mrs. Horton,” inter- 
rupted the celebrated counsellor, with a manner that was 
almost austere, “ that you have been greatly to blame in 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


181 


hazarding the sort of remark you did. If you know nothing 
of the character you certainly insinuated, you should have 
said nothing. It is very extraordinary that women, alive 
as they must be to the consequences to one of their own 
sex, are ever more ready than men to throw out careless, 
and frequently malicious hints, that take away a reputa- 
tion, and do a melancholy amount of harm in the world. 
Slander is the least respectable, the most unchristian-like, 
and the most unlady-like vice, of all the secondary sins of 
your sex. One would think the danger you are all exposed 
to in common would teach you greater caution.” 

“ Yes, sir, that is true ; but this Mary Monson is in such 
a pickle already, that it is not easy to make her case much 
worse,” answered Mrs. Horton, a good deal frightened at 
the austerity of Dunscomb’s rebuke ; for his reputation 
was too high to render his good or bad opinion a matter 
of indifference to her. “ If you only knew the half that 
is said of her in Dukes, you wouldn’t mind a careless word 
or so about her. Everybody thinks her guilty ; and a 
crime more or less can be of no great matter to the likes 
of her." 

“Ah, Mrs. Horton, these careless words do a vast deal 
of harm. They insinuate away a reputation in a breath ; 
and my experience has taught me that they who are the 
most apt to use them are persons whose own conduct will 
least bear the light. Women with a whole log-heap of 
beams in their own eyes, are remarkable for discovering 
motes. Give me the female who floats along quietly in 
her sphere, unoffending and charitable, wishing for the 
best, and as difficult to be brought to think as to do evil. 
But they talk a good deal against my client, do they ? ” 

“More than I have ever known folks talk against any 
indicted person, man or woman. The prize-fighters, who 
were in for murder, had a pretty hard time of it ; but 
nothing to Mary Monson’s. In short, until Squire Timms 
came out in her favor, she had no chance at all.” 

“This is not very encouraging, certainly — but what is 
said, Mrs. Horton, ifi you will suffer me to put the ques- 
tion ? ” 

“Why, Squire Dunscomb,” answered the woman, purs- 
ing up a very pretty American mouth of her own, “ a body 
is never sure that you won’t call what she says slander ” 

“ Poh — poh — you know me better than that. I never 
meddle with that vile class of suits. I am employed to 
defend Mary Monson, you know ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


182 

“Yes, and are well paid for it too, Squire Dunscomb, if 
all that a body hears is true,” interrupted Mrs. Horton, a 
little spitefully. “ Five thousand dollars, they say, to a cent ! ” 

Dunscomb, who was working literally without other re- 
ward than the consciousness of doing his duty, smiled, 
while he frowned at this fresh instance of the absurdities 
into which rumor can. lead its votaries. Bowing a little 
apology, he coolly lighted a cigar, and proceeded. 

“Where is it supposed that Mary Monson can find such 
large sums to bestow, Mrs. Horton?” he quietly asked, 
when his cigar was properly lighted. “ It is not usual for 
young and friendless women to have pockets so well lined.” 

“Nor is it usual for young women to rob and murder 
old ones, squire.” 

“Was Mrs. Goodwin’s stocking thought to be large 
enough to hold sums like that you have mentioned ? ” 

“ Nobody knows. Gold takes but little room, as witness 
Californy. There was General Wilton — every one thought 
him rich as Caesar ” 

“Do you not mean Croesus, Mrs. Horton ?” 

“Well, Caesar or Croesus ; both were rich, I do suppose, 
and General Wilton was thought the equal of either ; but, 
when he died, his estate wouldn’t pay his debts. On the 
other hand, old Davy Davidson was set down by nobody 
at more than twenty thousand, and he left ten times that 
much money. So I say nobody knows. Mrs. Goodwin 
was always. a saving woman, though Peter would make the 
dollars fly, -/if he could get at them. There was certainly a 
weak spot in Peter, though known to but very few.” 

Dunscomb now listened attentively. Every fact of this 
nature was of importance just then ; and nothing could be 
said of the murdered couple that would not induce all en- 
gaged in the cause to prick up their ears. 

“ I have always understood that Peter Goodwin was a 
very respectable sort of a man,” observed Dunscomb, with 
a profound knowledge of human nature, which was far 
more likely to induce the woman to be communicative, in 
the way of opposition, than by any* other process — “ as 
respectable a man as any about here.” 

“So he might be, but he had his w r eak points as well as 
other respectable men ; though, as I have said already, 
his’n wasn’t generally known. Everybody is respectable, 
I suppose, until they’re found out. But Peter is dead and 
gone, and I have no wish to disturb his grave, which I be- 
lieve to be a sinful act.” - 


the ways of the hour. 


*83 

This sounded still more ominously, and it greatly in- 
creased Dunscomb’s desire to learn more. Still he saw 
that great caution must be used, Mrs. Horton choosing to 
afreet much tenderness for her deceased neighbor’s char- 
acter. The counsellor knew human nature well enough 
to be aware that indifference was sometimes as '■•good a 
stimulant as opposition ; and he now thought it expedient 
to try the virtue of that quality. Without making any im- 
mediate answer, therefore, he desired the attentive^ and 
anxious Anna Updyke to perform some little office for 
him ; thus managing to get her out of the room, while the 
hostess stayed behind. Then his cigar did not quite suit 
him, and he tried another, making divers little delays that 
set the landlady on the tenter-hooks of impatience. 

“ Yes, Peter is gone — dead and buried— and I hope the 
sod lies lightly on his remains ! ” she said, sighing ostenta- 
tiously. 

“Therein you are mistaken, Mrs. Horton,” the coun- 
sellor coolly remarked — “ the remains of neither of those 
found in the ruins of the house are under ground yet ; but 
are kept for the trial.” 

“ What a time we shall have of it ! — so exciting and full 
of mystery ! ” 

“And you might add ‘custom,’ Mrs. Horton. The re- 
porters alone, who will certainly come from towm like an 
inroad of Cossacks, will fill your house.” 

“Yes, and themselves, too. To be honest with you, 
Squire Dunscomb, too many of those gentry wish to be 
kept for nothing to make them pleasant boarders. I dare 
say, however, we shall be full enough next week. I some- 
times wish there was no such thing as justice, after a hard- 
working Oyer and Terminer court.” 

“You should be under no concern, my good Mrs. Plor- 
ton, on that subject. There is really so little of the thing 
you have mentioned that no reasonable woman need make 
herself unhappy about it. So Peter Goodwin was a fault- 
less man, was he ? ” 

“As far from it as possible, if the truth was said of him ; 
and seeing the man is not absolutely under ground, I do 
not know why it may not be told. I can respect the grave, 
as well as another ; but, as he is not buried, one may tell 
the truth. Peter Goodwin was, by no means, the man he 
seemed to be.” 

“ In what particular did he fail, my good Mrs. Horton ? ” 

To b o, good in Dunscomb’s eyes, the landlady well knew, 


1 84 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


was a great honor ; and she was flattered as much by the 
manner in which the words were uttered, as by their im- 
port. Woman-like, Mrs. Horton was overcome by this 
little bit of homage ; and she felt disposed to give up a se- 
cret which, to do her justice, had been religiously kept 
now for some ten or twelve years between herself and her 
husband. As she and the counsel were alone, dropping 
her voice a little, more for the sake of appearances than 
for any sufficient reason, the landlady proceeded. 

“ Why, you must know, Squire Dunscomb, that Peter 
Goodwin was a member of meetin’, and a professing 
Christian, which I suppose was all the better for him, see- 
ing that he was to be murdered.” 

“ And do you consider his being a ‘ professing Christian ’ 
as you call it, a circumstance to be concealed ? ” 

“ Not at all, sir — but I consider it a good reason why the 
facts I am about to tell you, ought not to be generally 
known. Scoffers abound ; and I take it that the feelings 
of a believer ought to be treated more tenderly than those 
of an unbeliever, for the church’s sake.” 

“ That is the fashion of the times too — one of the ways 
of the hour, whether it is to last or not. But proceed if 
you please, my good Mrs. Horton ; I am quite curious to 
know by what particular sin Satan managed to overcome 
this ‘ professing Christian ? ’ ” 

“ He drank, Squire Dunscomb — no, he guzzled, , for that 
is the best word. You must know that Dolly was avarice 
itself — -that's the reason she took this Mary Monson in to 
board, though her house was no ways suited for boarders, 
standing out of the way, with only one small spare bed- 
room, and that under the roof. Had she let this stranger 
woman come to one of the regular houses, as she might 
have done, and been far better accommodated than it was 
possible for her to be in a garret, it is not likely she would 
have been murdered. She lost her life, as I tell Horton, 
for meddling with other people’s business.” 

“If such were the regular and inevitable punishment of 
that particular offence, my good landlady, there would be 
a great dearth of ladies,” said Tom Dunscomb, a little 
dryly — “but you were remarking that Peter Goodwin, the 
member of meeting, and Mary Monson’s supposed victim, 
had a weakness in favor of strong liquor ? ” 

“ Juleps were his choice — I’ve heard of a part of the 
country, somewhere about Virginny I believe it is, where 
teetotalers make an exception in favor of juleps — it may do 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. 


l *S 

there, Squire Dunscomb, but it won’t -do here. No liquor 
undoes a body, in this part of the country, sooner than 
mint juleps. I will find you ten constitutions that can 
hold out ag’in brandy, or plain grog, or even grog, beer, 
and cider, all three together, where you can find me one 
that will hold out ag’in juleps. I always set down a reg’lar 
julep fancier as a case — that is, in this part of the country.” 

“ Very true, my good landlady, and very sensible and 
just. I consider you a sensible and just woman, whose 
mind has been enlarged by an extensive acquaintance with 
human nature ” 

“ A body does pick up a good deal in and around a bar, 
Squire Dunscomb ! ” 

“ Pick up, indeed — I’ve known ’em picked up by the 
dozen myself. And Peter would take the juleps ?” 

“ Awfully fond of them ! He no more dared to take one 
at home, however, than he dared to go and ask Minister 
Watch to make him one. No, he know’d better where the 
right sort of article was to be had, and always came down 
to our house when he was dry. Horton mixes stiff, or we 
should have been a good deal better off in the world than 
we are — not that we’re mis’rable, as it is. But Horton 
takes it strong himself, and he mixes strong for others. 
Peter soon found this out, and he fancied his juleps more, 
as he has often told me himself, than the juleps of the 
great Bowery-man, who has a name for ’em, far and near. 
Horton can mix a julep, if he can do nothing else.’’ 

“ And Peter Goodwin was in the habit of frequenting 
your house privately, to indulge this propensity ? ” 

“I’m almost ashamed to own that he did — perhaps it 
was sinful in us to let him ; but a body must carryout the 
idee of trade — our trade is tavern-keeping, and it’s our 
business to mix liquors, though Minister Watch says, al- 
most every Sabbath, that professors should do nothing out 
of sight that they wouldn’t do before the whole congrega- 
tion. I don’t hold to that, however, for it would soon 
break up tavern-keeping altogether. Yes, Peter did drink 
awfully, in a corner.” 

“ To intoxication, do you mean, Mrs. Horton ? ” 

“ To delirrum tremus, sir — yes, full up to that. His 
way was to come down to the village on the pretence of 
business, and to come right to our house, where I’ve 
known him to take three juleps in the first half-hour. 
Sometimes he’d pretend to go to town to see his sister, 
when he would stay two or three days upstairs in a room 


i86 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


that Horton keeps for what he calls his cases — -he lias given 
the room the name of his ward — hospital-ward lie means.” 

“Is the worthy Mr. Horton a member of the meeting 
also, my good landlady ? ” 

Mrs. Horton had the grace to color ; but she answered 
without stammering, habit fortifying us in moral discrep- 
ancies much more serious than even this. 

“ He was, and I don’t know but I may say he is yet ; 
though he hasn’t attended,, now, for more than two years. 
The question got to be between meetin’ and the bar ; and 
the bar carried the day, so far as Horton is concerned. 
I’ve held out better, I hope, and expect to gain a victory. 
It’s quite enough to have one backslider in a family, I tell 
my husband, squire.” 

“A sufficient supply, ma’am — quite a sufficiency. So 
Peter Goodwin lay in your house drunk, days at a time ? ” 

“ I’m sorry to say he did. He was here a week once, 
with delirrum tremus on him ; but Horton carried him 
through by the use of juleps ; for that's the time to take 
’em, everybody says; and we got him home without old 
Dolly’s knowing that he hadn’t been with his sister that 
whole time. The turn satisfied Peter for three good 
months.” 

“ Did Peter pay as he went, or did you keep a score ? ” 

“Ready money, sir. Catch us keeping an account with 
a man when his wife ruled the roast! No, Peter paid like 
a king, for every mouthful he swallowed.” 

“I am far from certain that the comparison is a good 
one, kings being in no degree remarkable for paying their 
debts. But is it not possible that Peter may have set his 
own house on fire, and thus have caused all this calamity, 
for which my client is held responsible?” 

“ I’ve thought that over a good deal since the murder, 
squire, but don’t well see how it can be made out. Setting 
the building on fire is simple enough ; but who killed the 
old couple, and who robbed the house, unless this Mary 
Monson did both ? ” 

“ The case has its difficulties, no doubt ; but I have 
known the day to dawn after a darker night than this. I 
believe that Mrs. Goodwin and her husband were very 
nearly of the same height ? ” 

“ Exactly ; I’ve see them measure, back to back. He 
was a very short man, and she a very tall woman ! ” 

“ Do you know anything of a German female who is 
said to have lived with the unfortunate couple ?” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


1S7 

. “ There has been some talk of such a person since the 

fire ; but Dolly Goodwin kept no help. She was too stingy 
for that ; then she had no need of it, being very strong and 
stirring for her time of life.” 

“ Might not a boarder, like Miss Monson, have induced 
her to take this foreigner into her family for a few weeks ? 
The nearest neighbors, those who would be most likely to 
know all about it, say that no wages were given, the 
woman working for her food and lodging.” 

“Squire Dunscomb, you’ll never make it out that any 
German killed Peter and his wife.” 

“ Perhaps not ; • though even that is possible. Such, 
however, is not the object of my present inquiries — Tut, 
here comes my associate counsel, and I will take another 
occasion to continue this conversation, my good Mrs. 
Horton.” 

Timms entered with a hurried air. For the first time in 
his life he appeared to his associate and old master to be 
agitated. Cold, calculating, and cunning, this man seldom 
permitted himself to be so much thrown off his guard as 
to betray emotion ; but now he actually did. There was 
a tremor in his form that extended to his voice ; and he 
seemed afraid to trust the latter even in the customary 
salutations. Nodding his head, he drew a chair and took 
his seat. 

“ You have been to the jail ? ” asked Dunscomb. 

A nod was the answer. vfv 

“ You were admitted, and had an interview with our 
client ? ” 

Nod the third was the only reply. 

“ Did you put the question to her, as I desired ? ” 

“ I did, sir ; but I would sooner cross-examine all Dukes, 
than undertake to get anything she does not wish to tell, 
out of that one young lady ! ” 

“ I fancy most young ladies have a faculty for keeping 
such matters to themselves as they do not wish to reveal. 
Am I to understand that you got no answers ?” 

“I really do not know, squire. She was polite,' and 
obliging, and smiling — but, somehow or other, I do not 
recollect her replies.”' 

“ You must be falling in love, Timms, to return with 
such an account,” retorted Dunscomb, a cold but very sar- 
castic smile passing over his face. “Have a care, sir ; ’tis 
a passion that makes a fool of a man sooner than any other. 
I do not think there is much danger of the lady’s return- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


1 88 

ing your flame ; unless, indeed, you can manage to make 
her acquittal a condition of the match.” 

“ I am afraid — dreadfully afraid, her acquittal will be a 
very desperate affair,” answered Timms, passing his hands 
down his face, as if to wipe away his weakness. “The 
deeper I get into the matter, the worse it appears!” 

“Have you given our client any intimation to this effect?” 

“ I hadn’t the heart to do it. She is just as composed, 
and calm, and tranquil, and judicious — yes, and ingenious, 
as if she were only the counsel in this affair of life and 
death ? I couldn’t distrust so much tranquillity. I wish 
I knew her history ! ” 

“ My interrogatories pointed out the absolute necessity 
of her furnishing us with the means of enlightening the 
court and jury on that most material point, should the 
worst come to the worst.” 

“ I know they did, sir ; but they no more got at the 
truth than my own pressing questions. I should like to 
see that lady bn the stand, above all things ! I think she 
w r ould bother saucy Williams, and fairly put him out of 
countenance. By the way, sir, I hear he is employed 
against us by the nephew, who is quite furious about the 
loss of the money, which he pretends was a much larger 
sum than the neighborhood had commonly supposed.” 

“ I have always thought the relations would employ 
some one to assist the public prosecutor in a case of this 
magnitude. The theory of our government is that the 
public virtue will see the laws executed, but in my expe- 
rience, Timms, this public virtue is a very acquiescent and 
indifferent quality, seldom troubling itself even to abate 
a nuisance, until its own nose is offended, or its own pocket 
damaged.” 

“ Roguery is always more active than honesty — I found 
that out long since, squire. But, it is nat’ral for a public 
prosecutor not to press one on trial for life, and the ac- 
cused a woman, closer than circumstances seem to demand. 
It is true, that popular feeling is strong ag’in Mary. Mon- 
son ; but it was well in the nephew to fee' such a bull-dog 
as Williams, if he wishes to make a clean sweep of it.” 

“ Does our client know this ?” 

“Certainly ; she seems to know all about her case, and 
has a strange pleasure in entering into the mode and man- 
ner of her defence. It would- do your heart good, sir, to 
see the manner in which she listens, and advises, and con- 
sults. She’s wonderful handsome at such times ! ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


189 


“ You are in love, Timms ; and I shall have to engage 
some other assistant. First Jack, and then you ! Umph ! 
This is a strange world, of a verity.” 

“ I don’t think it’s quite as bad with me as that,” said 
Timms, this time rubbing his shaggy eyebrows as if to as- 
certain whether or not he were dreaming, “though I must 
own I do not feel precisely as I did a month since. I wish 
you would see our client yourself, sir, and make her un- 
derstand how important it is toiler interest that we should 
know something of her past history.” 

“ Do you think her name is rightfully set forth in the 
indictment ? 

“ By no means — but, as she has called herself Mary 
Monson, she cannot avail herself of her own acts.” 

“ Certainly not — I asked merely as a matter of informa- 
tion. She must be made to feel the necessity of fortifying 
us on that particular point, else it will go far toward con- 
victing her. Jurors do not like aliases.” 

“ She knows this already ; for I have laid the matter be- 
fore her, again and again. Nothing seems to move her, 
however ; and as to apprehension, she appears to be above 
all fear.” 

“ This is most extraordinary ! Have you interrogated 
the maid ?” 

“ How can I ? She speaks no English ; and I can’t utter 
a syllable in any foreign tongue.” 

“Ha! Does she pretend to that much ignorance? 
Marie Moulin speaks very intelligible English^as I know 
from having conversed with her often. She is a clever, 
prudent Swiss, from one of the French cantons, and is 
known for her fidelity and trustworthiness. With me she 
will hardly venture to practise this deception. If she has 
feigned ignorance of English, it was in order to keep her 
secrets.” 

Timms admitted the probability of its being so ; then he 
entered into a longer and more minute detail of the state 
of the case, in the first place, he admitted that, in spite 
of all his own- efforts to the contrary, the popular feeling 
was setting strong against their client. “Frank Williams,” 
as he called the saucy person who bore that name, had 
entered into the struggle might and main, and was making 
his customary impressions. 

“His fees must be liberal,” continued Timms, “and I 
should think are in some way dependent on the result ; for 
I never saw the fellow more engaged in my life.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


190 

“This precious Code does allow such a bargain to be 
made between the counsel and his client, or any other 
bargain that is not downright conspiracy,” returned Duns- 
comb ; “ but I do not see what is to be shared, even should 
Mary Monson be hanged.” 

“ Do not speak in that manner of so agreeable a per- 
son,” cried Timms, actually manifesting emotion — “it is 
unpleasant to think of. It is true, a conviction will not 
bring money to the prosecution, unless it should bring to 
light some of Mrs. Goodwin’s hoards.” 

O # # 

Dunscomb shrugged his shoulders, and his associate pro- 
ceeded with his narrative. Two of the reporters were 
offended, and their allusions to the cause, which were 
almost daily in their respective journals, were ill-natured, 
and calculated to do great harm, though so far covered 
as to wear an air of seeming candor. The natural effect 
of this “constant dropping,” in a community accustom- 
ed to refer everything to the common mind, had been 
“ to wear away the stone.” Many of those who, at first 
had been disposed to sustain the accused, unwilling 
to believe that one so young, so educated, so modest in 
deportment, so engaging in manners, and of the gentler 
sex, could possibly be guilty of the crimes imputed, were 
now changing their opinions, under the control of this 
potent and sinister mode of working on the public senti- 
ment. The agents employed by Timms to counteract this 
malign influence had failed of their object ; they working 
merely for, money, while those of the other side were re- 
senting what they regarded as an affront. 

The family of the Burtons, the nearest neighbors of the 
Goodwins, no longer received Tirpms w T ith the frank cor- 
diality that they had manifested in the earlier period of 
his intercourse with them. Then, they had been com- 
municative, eager to tell all that they knew, and, as the 
lawyer fancied, even a little more ; while they were now 
reserved, uneasy, and indisposed to let. one-half of the real 
facts within their knowledge be known. Timms thought 
they had been worked upon, and that they might expect 
same hostile and important testimony from that quarter. 
The consultation ended by an exclamation from Duns- 
comb on the subject of the abuses that were so fast creep- 
ing into the administration of justice, rendering the boasted 
freemen' of America, though in a different mode, little 
more likely to receive its benefit from an unpolluted 
stream, than they who live under the worn out and con- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. i 9 l 

fe^sedly corrupt systems of the old world. Such is the 
tendency of things, and such one of the ways of the 
hour. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Are those her ribs through which the sun 

Did peer, as through a gate ? 

And is that woman all her crew? 

Is that a Death, and are there two ? 

Is Death that woman’s mate ? — The Phantom Ship. 

After a short preparatory interview with Anna Updyke, 
Dunscomb repaired to the jail, whither he had already dis- 
patched a note to announce his intended visit. Good Mrs. 
Gott received him with earnest attention ; for, as the day 
of trial approached, this kind-hearted woman manifested a 
warmer and warmer interest in the fate of her prisoner. 

“ You are welcome, Mr. Dunscomb,” said this well- 
disposed and gentle turnkey, as she led the way to the 
door that opened on the gallery of the jail ; “and welcome, 
again and again. I do wish this business may fall into 
good hands ; and Pm afraid Timms is not getting on with 
it as well as he might.” 

“ My associate has the reputation of being a skilful 
attorney and a good manager, Mrs. Gott.” 

■ “So he has, Mr. Dunscomb; but somehow — I scarce 
know how myself — but somehow, he doesn’t get along with 
this cause, as well as I have known him to get along with 
others. The excitement in the county is terrible ; and 
Gott has had seven anonymous letters to let him know 
that if Mary Monson escape, his hopes from the public are 
gone forever. I tell him not to mind such contemptible 
things ; but he is frightened half out of his wits. It takes 
good ' courage, squire, to treat an anonymous letter with 
the contempt it merits.” 

“ It sometimes does, indeed. Then you think we shall 
have up-hill work with the defence ?” 

“Dreadful! I’ve never known a cause so generally 
tried out of doors as this. What makes the matter more 
provoking, Mary Monson might have had it all her own 
way, if she had been, so minded; for, at first, she was 
popularity itself with all the neighbors. Folks nat’rally 
like beauty, and elegance, and youth ; and Mary has 
enough of each to make friends anywhere.” 


192 


THE WAYS Of THE HOUR. 


“What! with the ladies?” said Dunscomb, smiling. 
“ Surely not with your sex, Mrs. Gott ?” 

“Yes, with the women, as well as with the men, if sire 
would only use her means — but she stands in her own 
light. Crowds have been round the outer windows to hear 
her play on the harp — they tell me she uses the real Jew’s- 
harp, Squire Dunscomb ; such as Royal David used to 
play on ; and that she has great skill. There is a German 
in the village who knows all about music, and he says 
Mary Monson has been excellently taught — by the very 
best masters.” 

“It is extraordinary; yet it would seem to be so. Will 
you have the goodness to open the door, Mrs. Gott ?” 

“With all my heart,” answered this, in one sense, very 
singular turnkey, though in another, a very every-day 
character, jingling her keys, but not taking a forward step 
to comply ; “ Mary Monson expects you. I suppose, sir, 
you know that saucy Frank Williams is retained by the 
friends of the Goodwins ? ” 

“ Mr. Timms has told me as much as that. I cannot say, 
however, that I have any particular apprehension of en- 
countering Mr. Williams.” 

“No, sir ; not you , I’ll engage, not in open court ; but 
out of doors he’s very formidable.” 

“Y trust this cause, one involving the life and reputation 
of a very interesting female, will not be tried out of doors, 
Mrs. Gott. The issue is too serious for such a tribunal.” 

“ So a body would think ; but a great deal of law busi- 
ness is settled, they tell me, under the sheds, and in the 
streets, and in the taverns ; most especially in the juror’s 
bedrooms, and settled in a w T ay it ought not to be.” 

“ I.am afraid you are nearer right than every just-minded 
person could wish. But we will talk of this another time 
— the door, if you please, now.” 

“ Yes, sir, in one minute. It would be so easy for Mary 
Monson to be just as popular with everybody in Biberry 
as she is w T ith me. Let her come to one of the side win- 
dows of the gallery this evening, and show herself to the 
folks, and play on that harp of hers, and Royal David 
himself could not have been better liked by the Jews of 
old than she would soon be by our people hereabouts.” 

“It is probably' now too late. The court sits in a few 
days ; and the mischief, if any there be, must be done.” 

“ No such thing, begging your pardon, squire. There’s 
that in Mary Monson that can carry anything She pleases. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


*93 

' Folks now think her proud and consequential, because she 
will not just stand at one of the grates and let them look 
at her a little.” 

“ I am afraid, Mrs. Gott, your husband has taught you a 
greater respect for those you call ‘ the people,’ than they 
deserve to receive at your hands.” 

“ Gott is dreadfully afraid of them ” 

“And he is set apart by the laws to see them executed 
on these very people,” interrupted Dunscomb, with a 
sneer ; “ to levy on their possessions, keep the peace, en- 
force the laws ; in short, to make them feel , whenever it is 
necessary, that they ar q governed ! ” 

“ Gott says ‘ that the people will rule.’ That’s his great 
saying.” 

“ Will see?n to rule is true enough ; but the most that the 
mass of any nation can do, is occasionally to check the pro- 
ceedings of their governors. The every-day work is most 
effectually done by a favored few here, just as it is done by 
a favored few everywhere else. The door, now, if you 
please, my good Mrs. Gott.” 

“Yes, sir, in one minute. Dear me! how odd that you 
should, think so. Win-, I thought that you were a Demo- 
crat, Mr. Dunscomb?” 

“ So I am, as between forms of government ; but I never 
was fool enough to think that the people can really rule, 
further than by occasional checks and rebukes.” 

“ What would Gott say to this ? Why, he is so much afraid 
of the people that he tells me he never does anything, -with- 
out fancying some one is looking over his shoulders.” 

“ Ay, that is a very good rule for a man who wishes to 
be chosen sheriff. To be a bishop , it would be better to 
remember the omniscient eye.” 

“I do declare— oh ! Gott never thinks of that, more’s the 
pity,” applying the key to the lock. “ When you wish to 
come out, squire, just call at this grate ’’—then dropping 
her voice to a whisper — “ try and persuade Mary Monson 
to show herself at one of the side grates.” 

But Dunscomb entered the gallery with no such in- 
tention. As he was expected, his reception was natural 
and easy. The prisoner was carefully though simply 
dressed, and she appeared all the better, most probably, 
from some of the - practised arts of her woman. Marie 
Moulin, herself, kept modestly within the cell, where, in- 
deed, she passed most of her time, leaving the now quite 
handsomely furnished gallery to the uses of her mistress. 

13 


194 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


After the first few words of salutation, Dunscomb took 
the chair he was invited to occupy, a good deal at a loss 
how to address a woman of his companion’s mien and 
general air as a culprit about to be tried for her life. He 
first attempted words of course. 

“ I see you have had a proper regard to your comforts in 
this miserable place,” he remarked. 

“ Do not call it by so forbidding a name, Mr. Dunscomb,” 
was the answer, given with a sorrowful, but exceedingly 
winning smile — “ it is my place of refuge .” 

“ Do you still persist in refusing to tell me against what , 
Miss Monson ? ” 

“ I persist in nothing that ought not to be done, I hope. 
At another time I may be more communicative. But, if 
what Mrs. Gott tells me is correct, I need these walls to 
prevent my being torn to pieces by those she calls the 
people outside.” 

Dunscomb looked with amazement at the being who 
quietly made this remark on her own situation. Of beau- 
tiful form, with all the signs of a gentle origin and refined 
education, young, handsome, delicate, nay, dainty of speech 
and acts, there she sat, indicted for arson and murder, and 
about to be tried for her life, with the composure of a 
lady in her drawing-room ! The illuminated expression 
that, at times, rendered her countenance so very remark- 
able, had now given place to one of sobered sadness ; 
though apprehension did not appear to be in the least pre- 
dominant. 

“ The sheriff has instilled into his wife a very healthful 
respect for those she calls the people — healthful, for one 
who looks to their voices for his support. This is very 
American.” 

“ I suppose it to be much the same everywhere. I have 
been a good deal abroad, Mr. Dunscomb, and cannot say I 
perceive any great difference in men.” 

“ Nor is there any, though circumstances cause different 
modes of betraying their weaknesses, as well as what there 
is in them that is good. But the people in this country, 
Miss Monson, possess a power that, in your case, is not to 
be despised. As Mrs. Gott would intimate, it may be pru- 
dent for you to remember that.” 

“ Surely you would not have me make an exhibition of 
myself, Mr. Dunscomb, at the window of a jail ! ” 

“ As- far from that as possible. I would have you do 
nothing that is unbecoming one of your habits and opin- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


T 9S 


ions— nothing, in short, that would be improper, as a means 
of defence, by one accused and tried by the State. Never- 
theless, it is always wiser to make friends than to make 
enemies.” 

Mary Monson lowered her eyes to the carpet, and Duns- 
comb perceived that her thoughts wandered. They were 
not on her critical situation. It was indispensably neces- 
sary, however, that he should be explicit, and he did not 
shrink from his duty. Gently, but distinctly, and with a 
clearness that a far less gifted mind than that of the ac- 
cused could comprehend, he now opened the subject of the 
approaching trial. A few words were first ventured on its 
grave character, and on the vast importance it was in all 
respects to his client ; to which the latter listened atten- 
tively, but without the slightest visible alarm. Next, he 
alluded to the stories that were in circulation the impres- 
sion they were producing, and the danger there was that 
her rights might be affected by these sinister opinions. 

“ But I am to be tried by a judge and a jury, they tell 
me,” said Mary Monson, when Dunscomb ceased speaking 
— “ they will come from a distance, and will not be preju- 
diced against me by all this idle gossip.” 

“Judges and jurors are only men, and nothing goes 
further with less effort than your ‘ idle gossip.’ Nothing 
is repeated accurately, or it is very rare to find it so ; and 
those who only half comprehend a subject are certain to 
relate with exaggerations and false colorings.” 

“ How, then, can the electors discover the real charac- 
ters of those for whom they are required to vote ? ” de- 
manded Mary Monson, smiling ; “or get just ideas of the 
measures they are to support or to oppose ?” 

“ Half the time they do neithei*. It exceeds all our pres- 
ent'means, at least, to diffuse sufficient information for that. 
The consequence is that appearances and assertions are 
made to take the place of facts. The mental food of the 
bulk of this nation is an opinion simulated by the artful to 
answer their own purposes. But the power of the masses 
is getting to be very formidable — more formidable in a way 
never contemplated by those who formed the institutions, 
than in any way that was foreseen. Among other things, 
they begin to hold the administration of justice in the hol- 
low of their hands.” 

“ I am not to be tried by the masses, I trust. If so, my 
fate would be very hard, I fear, judging from what I hear 
in my little excursions in the neighborhood.” 


196 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Excursions, Miss Monson ! ” repeated the astonished 
Dunscomb. 

“ Excursions, sir ; I make one for the benefit of air and 
exercise, every favorable night, at this fine season of the 
year. Surely you would not have me cooped up here in a 
jail, without the relief of a little fresh air ?” 

“ With the knowledge and concurrence of the sheriff, or 
that of his wife ?” 

“ Perhaps not strictly with those of either ; though I sus- 
pect good Mrs. Gott has an inkling of my movements. It 
would be too hard to deny myself air and exercise, both of 
which are very necessary to my health, because I am 
charged with these horrid crimes.” 

Dunscomb passed a hand over his brow, as if he desired 
to clear his mental vision by friction of the physical, and, 
for a moment, sat absolutely lost in wonder. He scarce 
knew whether he was or was not dreaming. . 

“ And you have actually been outside of these walls. Miss 
Monson ! ” he exclaimed, at length. 

“ Twenty times, at least. Why should I stay within 
them, when the means of quitting them are always in my 
power ? ” 

As Mary Monson said this, she showed her counsel a set 
of keys that corresponded closely with those which good 
Mrs. Gott was in the habit of using whenever she came to 
open the door of that particular gallery. A quiet smile 
betrayed how little the prisoner fancied there was anything 
remarkable in all this. 

“Are you aware, Miss Monson, it is felony to assist a 
prisoner to escape ? ” 

“ So they tell me, Mr. Dunscomb ; but as I have not es- 
caped, or made any attempt to escape, and have returned 
regularly and in good season to my jail, no one can be 
harmed for what I have done. Such, at least, is the opin- 
ion of Mr. Timms.” 

Dunscomb did not like the expression of face that ac- 
companied this- speech. It might be too much to say it 
was absolutely cunning ; but there was so much of the 
manoeuvring of one accustomed to manage in it, that it 
awakened the unpleasant distrust that existed in the earlier 
days of his intercourse with this singular young woman, 
and which had now been dormant for several weeks. There 
was, however, so much of the cold polish of the upper 
classes in his client’s manner, that the offending expression 
was thrown off from the surface of her looks, as light is 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


197 


reflected from the ground and silvered mirror. At the 
very instant which succeeded this seeming gleam of cun- 
ning, all was calm, quiet, refined, gentle, and without ap- 
parent emotion in the countenance of the accused. 

“Timms!” repeated Dunscomb, slowly. “So he has 
known of this, and I dare say has had an agency in bring- 
ing it about ! ” 

“As you say it is felony to aid a prisoner to escape, I 
can say neither yes nor no to this, Mr. Dunscomb, lest I 
betray an accomplice. I should rather think, however, 
that Mr. Timms is not a person to be easily caught in the 
meshes of the law.” 

Again the counsellor disliked the expression ; though 
Mary Monson looked unusually pretty at that particular 
moment. He did not pause to analyze his feelings not- 
withstanding, but rather sought to relieve his own curi- 
osity, which had been a good deal aroused by the informa- 
tion just received. 

“As you have not hesitated to tell me of what you call 
your ‘excursions,’ Miss Monson,” he continued, “perhaps 
you will so far extend your confidence as to let me know 
where you go ? ” 

“I can have no objection to that. Mr. Timms tells me 
the law cannot compel a counsel to betray his client’s se- 
crets ; and of course I am safe with you. Stop — I have a 
duty to perform that has been too long delayed. Gentle- 
men of your profession are entitled to their fees ; and, as 
yet, I have been very remiss in this respect. Will you do 
me the favor, Mr. Dunscomb, to accept that, which you 
will, see has been some time in readiness to be offered ? ” 

Dunscomb was too much of a professional man to 
feel any embarrassment at this act of justice ; but he 
took the letter, broke the seal, even before his client’s 
eyes, and held up for examination a note for a thousand 
dollars, Prepared as he was by Timm’s account for a lib- 
eral reward, this large sum took him a good deal by surprise. 

“This is an unusual fee, Miss Monson !” he exclaimed ; 
“one much more considerable than I should expect from 
you, were I working for remuneration, as in your case I 
certainly am not.” 

“ Gentlemen of the law look for their reward, I believe, 
as much as others. We do not live in the times of chivalry, 
when gallant men assisted distressed damsels as a matter 
of honor ; but in what has well been termed a ‘ bank-note 
world.’ ” 


198 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ I have no wish to set myself up above the fair prac- 
tices of my profession, and am as ready to accept a fee as 
any man in Nassau Street. Nevertheless, I took your case 
in hand with a very different motive. It would pain me 
to be obliged to work for a fee, on the present unhappy 
occasion.” 

Mary Monson looked grateful, and for a minute she 
seemed to be reflecting on some scheme by which she could 
devise a substitute for the old-fashioned mode of proceed- 
ing in a case of this sort. 

“ You have a niece, Mr. Dunscomb,” she at length ex- 
claimed — “as Marie Moulin informs me? A charming 
girl, and who is about to be married ?” 

The lawyer assented by an inclination of the head, fas- 
tening his penetrating black eyes on the full, expressive, 
grayish-blue ones of his companion. 

“ You intend to return to town this evening ?” said Mary 
Monson, in continuation. 

“ Such is my intention. I came here to-(Jay to confer 
with you and Mr. Timms, on the subject of the trial, to 
see how matters stand on the spot, by personal observa- 
tion, and to introduce to you one who feels the deepest 
interest in your welfare, and desires most earnestly to seek 
jmur acquaintance.” 

The prisoner was now silent, interrogating with her 
singularly expressive eyes. 

“ It is Anna Updvke, the step-daughter of my nearest 
friend, Doctor Me Brain ; and a very sincere, warm-hearted, 
and excellent girl.” 

“ I have heard of her, too,” returned Mary Monson, with 
a smile so strange, that her counsel wished she had not 
given this demonstration of a feeling that seemed out of 
place, under all the circumstances. “They tell me she is 
a most charming girl, and that she is a very great favorite 
with your nephew, the young gentleman whom I have 
styled my legal vedette.” 

“ Vedette ! That is a singular term to be used by you ! ” 

“Oh! you will remember that I have been much in 
countries where such persons abound. I must have caught 
the word from some of the young soldiers of Europe. But, 
Mr. John YViltneter is an admirer of the young lady you 
have named ? ” 

“ I hope he is. I know of ho one with whom I think he 
would be more likely to be happy.” 

Dunscomb spoke earnestly, and at such times his man- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


199 


ner was singularly sincere and impressive. It was this ap- 
pearance of feeling and nature that gave him the power 
he possessed over juries ; and it may be said to have made 
no small part of his fortune. Mary Monson seemed to be 
surprised ; and she fastened her remarkable eyes on the 
uncle, in a way that might have admitted of different in- 
terpretations. Pier lips moved as if she spoke to herself ; 
and the smile that succeeded was both mild and sad. 

“ To be sure,” added the prisoner, slowly, “ my inform- 
ation is not on the very best authority, coming, as it does, 
from a servant— but Marie Moulin is both discreet and ob. 
servant.” 

“ She is tolerably well qualified to speak of Anna Up 
dyke, having seen her almost daily for the last two years. 
But we are ail surprised that you should know anything ol 
this young woman.” 

“ I know her precisely as she is known to your niece 
and Miss Updyke — in other words, as a maid who is 
much esteemed by those she serves — but,” apparently 
wishing to change the discourse — “ we are forgetting 
the purpose of your visit, all this time, Mr. Dunscomb, 
Do me the favor to' write your address in town, and that 
of Doctor McBrain on this card, and we will proceed to 
business.” 

Dunscomb did as desired, when he opened on the de- 
tails that were the object of his little journey. As had 
been the case in all his previous interviews with her, Mary 
Monson surprised him with the coolness with which she 
spoke of an issue that involved her own fate, for life or for 
death. While she carefully abstained from making any 
allusion to circumstances that might betray her previous 
history, she shrunk from no inquiry that bore on the acts 
of which she had been accused. Every question put by 
Dunscomb that related to the murders and the arson, was 
answered frankly and freely, there being no wish apparent 
to conceal the minutest circumstances. She made several 
exceedingly shrewd and useful suggestions on the subject 
of the approaching trial, pointing out defects in the testi- 
mony against her, and reasoning with singular acuteness 
on particular facts that w^ere known to be much relied on 
by the prosecution. We shall not reveal these details any 
further in this stage of our narrative, for they will neces- 
sarily appear at length in our subsequent pages ; but shall 
confine ourselves to a few of those remarks that may be 
better given at present. 


200 


THE If '’AYS OF THE HOUR. 


“I do not know, Mr. Dunscomb,” Mary Monson sud- 
denly said, while the subject of her trial was yet under dis- 
cussion, “ that I have ever mentioned to you the fact that 
Mr. and Mrs. Goodwin were not happy together. One 
would think, from what was said at the time of the inquest, 
that they were a very affectionate and contented couple ; 
but my own observation, during the short time I was 
under their roof, taught me better. The husband drank, 
and the wife was avaricious and very quarrelsome. I am 
afraid, sir, there are few really happy couples to be found 
on earth ! ” 

“ If you knew McBrain better, you would not say that, 
my dear Miss Monson,” answered the counsellor with a sort 
of glee — “ there’s a husband for you ! — a fellow who is not 
only happy with one wife, but who is happy with three , as 
he will tell you himself.” 

“ Not all at the same time, I hope, sir ? ” 

Dunscomb did justice to his friend’s character, by relat- 
ing how the matter really stood ; after which lie asked per- 
mission to introduce Anna Updyke. Mary Monson seemed 
startled at this request, and' asked several questions, which 
induced her counsel to surmise that she was fearful of 
being recognized. Nor was Dunscomb pleased with all 
the expedients adopted by his client in order to extract 
information from him. He thought they slightly indicated 
cunning, a quality that he might be said to abhor. Ac- 
customed as he was to all the efforts of ingenuity in illus- 
trating a principle or maintaining a proposition, he had 
always avoided everything like sophistry and falsehood. 
This weakness on the part of Mary Monson,. however, was 
soon forgotten in the graceful manner in which she ac- 
quiesced in the wish of the stranger to be admitted. The 
permission was finally accorded, as if an honor were re- 
ceived, with the tact of a female and the easy dignity of a 
gentlewoman. 

Anna Updyke possessed a certain ardor of character that 
had more than once given her prudent and sagacious 
mother uneasiness, and which sometimes led her into the 
commission of acts, always innocent in themselves, and 
perfectly under the restraint of principles, which the world 
would have been apt to regard as imprudent. Such, how- 
ever, was far from being her reputation ; her modesty, and 
the diffidence with, which she regarded herself, being 
amply sufficient to protect her from the common observa- 
tion, even while most beset by the weakness named. Her 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


201 


love for John Wilmeter was so disinterested, or to herself 
so seemed to be, that she fancied she could even assist in 
bringing about his union with another woman, were that 
necessary to his happiness. She believed that this myste- 
rious stranger was, to say the least, an object of intense in- 
terest with John, which soon made her an object of intense 
interest with herself ; and each hour increased her desire 
to become acquainted with one so situated, friendless, ac- 
cused, and seemingly suspended by a thread over an abyss, 
as she was. When she first made her proposal to Duns- 
comb to be permitted to visit his client, the wary and ex- 
perienced counsellor strongly objected to the step. 

It was imprudent, could lead to no good, and might 
leave an impression unfavorable to Anna’s own character. 
But this advice was unheeded by a girl of Anna Updyke’s 
generous temperament. Quiet and gentle as she ordinarily 
appeared to be, there was a deep undercurrent of feeling 
and enthusiasm in her moral constitution, that bore her 
onward in any course which she considered to be right, 
with a total abnegation of self. This was a quality to lead 
to good or evil, as it might receive a direction ; and hap- 
pily nothing had yet occurred in her brief existence to 
carry her away toward the latter goal. 

Surprised at the steadiness and warmth with which his 
young friend persevered in her request, Dunscomb, after 
obtaining the permission of her mother, and promising to 
take good care of his charge, was permitted to convey 
Anna to Biberry, in the manner related. 

Now that her wish was about to be gratified, Anna Up- 
dyke, like thousands of others who have been more im- 
pelled by impulses than governed by reason, shrunk from 
the execution of her own purposes. But the generous 
ardor revived in her in time to save appearances ; and she 
was admitted by well-meaning Mrs. Gott to the gallery of 
the prison, leaning on Dunscomb’s arm, much as she might 
have entered a drawing-room, in a regular morning call. 

The meeting between these two charming young women 
was frank and cordial, though slightly qualified by the 
forms of the world. A watchful and critical observer 
might have detected less of nature in Mary Monson’s man- 
ner than in that of her guest, even while the welcome she 
gave her visitor was not without cordiality and feeling. It 
is true that her courtesy was more elaborate and European, 
if one may use the expression, than it is usual to see in an 
American female, and her air was less ardent than that of 


202 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR . 


Anna ; but the last was highly struck with her countenance 
and general appearance, and, on the whole, not dissatisfied 
with her own reception. 

The power of sympathy and the force of affinities soon 
made themselves felt, as between these two youthful fe- 
males. Anna regarded Mary as a stranger most grievously 
wronged ; and forgetting all that there was which was 
questionable or mysterious in her situation, or remember- 
ing it only to feel the influence of its interest, while she 
submitted to a species of community of feeling with John 
Wilmeter, as she fancied, and soon got to be as much en- 
tranced with the stranger as seemed to be the fate of all 
who approached the circle of her acquaintance. On the 
other hand, Mary Monson felt a consolation and gratifica- 
tion in this visit to which she had long been a stranger. 
Good Mrs. Gott was kind-hearted and a woman, but she 
had no claim to the refinement and peculiar sensibilities of 
a lady ; while Marie Moulin, discreet, respectful, even wise 
as she was in her own way, was, after all, nothing but an 
upper servant. The chasm between the cultivated and the 
uncultivated, the polished and the unpolished, is wide ; 
and the accused fully appreciated the change, when one of 
her own class in life, habits, associations, and, if the reader 
will, prejudices, so unexpectedly appeared to sympathize 
with, and to console her. Under such circumstances, three 
or four hours made the two fast and deeply-interested 
friends, on their own accounts, to say nothing of the effect 
produced by the generous advances of one, and the peril- 
ous condition of the other. 

Dunscomb returned to town that evening, leaving Anna 
Updyke behind him, ostensibly under the care of Mrs. 
Gott. Democracy has been carried so far on the high road 
of ultraism in New York, as in very many interests to be- 
come the victim of its own expedients. Perhaps the peo- 
ple are never so far from exercising a healthful, or, indeed, 
any authority at all, as when made to seem, by the expe- 
dients of demagogues, to possess an absolute control. It 
is necessary merely to bestow a power which it is impos- 
sible for the masses to wield with intelligence, in order to 
effect this little piece of legerdemain in politics ; the quasi- 
people in all such cases becoming the passive instruments 
in the hands of their leaders, who strengthen their own 
authority by this seeming support of the majority. In all 
cases, however, in which the agency of numbers can be 
felt, its force is made to prevail ; the tendency necessarily 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


203 


"being to bring down all representation to the level of the 
majority. The effect of the change has been pretty equally 
divided between good and evil. In many cases benefits 
have accrued to the community by the exercise of this di- 
rect popular control, while in probably quite as many the 
result has been exactly the reverse of that which was an- 
ticipated. In no one instance, we believe it will be gen- 
erally admitted, has the departure* from the old practice 
been less advantageous than in rendering the office of 
sheriff elective. Instead of being a leading and indepen- 
dent man, who has a pride in his position, and regards the 
character of his county as he does his own, this function- 
ary has got to be, nine times in ten, a mere political ma- 
noeuvrer, who seeks the place as a reward for party labors, 
and fills it very much for his personal benefit, conferring 
no dignity on it by his own position and character, lessen- 
ing its authority by his want of the qualities calculated to 
increase it, and, in a good many instances, making it quite 
as difficult to wrest money from his hands, as from those 
of the original debtor. 

It is a consequence of this state of things that the sheriff 
has quite lost all, or nearly all, the personal consideration 
that was .once connected with his office ; and has sunk, in 
most of the strictly rural counties, into a jailer, and the 
head of the active bailiffs. His object is altogether money * 
and the profit connected with the keeping of the prisoners,, 
now reduced almost entirely to felons, the accused, and 
persons committed for misdemeanors, is one of the in- 
ducements for aspiring to an office once so honor- 
able. 

In this state of things, it is not at all surprising that Du ns- 
comb was enabled to make such an arrangement with Mrs. 
Gott as would place Anna Updyke in a private room in 
the house attached to the jail, and which formed the sheriff’s 
dwelling. The counsellor preferred leaving her with Mrs. 
Horton ; but to this Anna herself objected, both because 
she had taken a strong dislike to the garrulous but shrewd 
landlady, and because it would have separated her too 
much from the person she had come especially to console 
and sympathize with. 

The arrangement made, Dunscomb,- as has already been 
mentioned, took his departure for town, with the under- 
standing that he was to return the succeeding week ; the 
Circuit and Oyer and Terminer sitting on Monday, and 
the district attorney, Mr. Garth, having given notice to her 


204 


THE W AYS OF THE HOUR . 


counsel that the indictment against Mary Monson would 
be certainly traversed the second day of the sitting, which 
would be on Tuesday. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, 

And her eyes may be e’en any color but green ; 

Be they light, gray, or black, their lustre and hue, 

I swear I’ve no choice, only let her have two . — The Duenna. 

Two days after this, Dunscomb was in his library late 
at night, holding a brief discourse with McBrain’s coach- 
man, who has been already introduced to the reader. Some 
orders had been given to the last, in relation to another 
trip to Biberry, whither the master and our lawyer were 
to proceed next day. The man was an old and indulged 
servant, and often took great liberties in these conferences. 
In this respect the Americans of his class differ very little 
from the rest of their fellow-creatures, notwithstanding all 
that has been said and written to the contrary. They obey 
the impulses of their characters much as the rest of man- 
kind, though not absolutely without some difference in 
manner. 

“ I s’poses, Squire Dunscomb, that this is like to be the 
last journey that I and the doctor will have to take soon 
ag’in, in that quarter,” cooliy observed Stephen, when his 
masters friend had told him the hour to be at the door,, 
with the other preparations that would be necessary ; “un- 
less we should happen to be called in at the post mortal .” 

“ Post mortem , you must mean, Hoof,” a slight smile 
flashing on the lawyer’s countenance, and as quickly dis- 
appearing. “ So you consider it a settled thing that my 
client is to be found guilty ? ” 

“That’s what they say, sir ; and things turn out, in this 
country, pretty much the same as they say aforehand. For 
my part, sir, I never quite liked the criminal’s looks.” 

“ Her looks ! I do not know where you would go to find 
a more lovely young woman, Stephen ! ” 

This was said with a vivacity and suddenness that startled 
the coachman a little. Even Dunscomb seemed surprised 
at his own animation, and had the grace to change color. 
The fact- was that he too was feeling the influence of 


THE IV A YS' OF THE HO UR . 


205 


woman, youthful, lovely, spirited, refined, and surrounded 
with' difficulties. This was the third of Mary Monson’s 
conquests since her arrest, if John Wilmeter’s wavering 
admiration could be placed in this category, viz., Timms, 
the nephew, and the counsellor himself. Neither-was ab- 
solutely in love ; but each and all submitted to an interest 
of an unusual degree in the person, character, and fortunes 
of this unknown female. Timms, alone, had got so far as 
to contemplate a marriage ; the idea having crossed his 
mind that it might be almost as useful as popularity, to be- 
come the husband of one possessed of so much money. 

“ I’ll not deny her good looks, squire,” returned Stephen 
Hoof — or Stephen Huff, as he called himself — “but it’s 
her bad looks that isn’t so much to my fancy. Vhy, sir, 
once the doctor had a horse that was agreeable enough to 
the eye, having a good color and most of the p’ints, but 
who wasn’t no traveller, not a bit on’t. One that know’d 
the animal could see where the fault lay ; the fetlock j’int 
being oncommon longish ; and that’s what I call good looks 
and bad looks.” 

“ You mean, Stephen,” said Dunscoinb, who had re- 
gained all his sang froid. , “ that Mary Monson has a bad- 
looking ankle, I suppose, wherein I think you miserably 
mistaken. No matter ; she will not have to travel under 
your lash very far. But, how is it with the reporters ? 
Do you see any more of your friend that asks so many 
questions ? ” 

“ They be an axing set, squire, if anybody can be so 
called,” returned Stephen, grinning. “Would you think it, 
sir ? one day when I was cornin’ in from Timbully empty, 
one on ’em axed me for a ride ! a chap as hadn’t his foot 
in a reg’lar private coach since he was born, a wantin’ to 
drive about in a wehicle as well known as Doctor McBrain’s 
best carriage! Them’s the sort of chaps that spreads all 
the reports that’s going up and down the land, they tell me.” 

“ They do their share of it, Stephen ; though there are 
enough to help them who do not openly belong to their 
corps. Well, what does your acquaintance want to know 
now ? ” 

“ Oncommon curious, squire, about the bones. He axed 
me more than forty questions ; what we thought of them ; 
and about their being male or female bones ; and how we 
know’d ; and a great many more sich matters. I answered 
him accordin’ to my abilities ; and so he made an article 
on the subject, and has sent me the papers.” 


2o6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ An article ! Concerning Mary Monson, and on your 
information?” 

“ Sartain, sir ; and the bones. Vhy, they cut articles out 
of much narrower cloth, I can tell you, squire. There’s the 
cooks, and chambermaids, and vaiters about town, none of 
vich can hold up their heads with a reg’lar, long-estab- 
lished physician’s coachman, who goes far ahead of even 
an omnibus driver in public estimation, as you must know, 
squire — but such sort of folks furnish many an article for 
the papers nowadays — yes, and articles that ladies and 
gentlemen read.” 

“ That is certainly a singular source of useful knowledge 
— one must hope they are well-grounded, or they will soon 
cease to be ladies and gentlemen at all. Have you the 
paper about you, Stephen ? ” 

Hoof handed the lawyer a journal folded with a para- 
graph in view, that was so much thumbed and dirtied it 
was not very easy to read it. 

“We understand that the trial of Mary Monson, for the 
murder of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin,” said the “ article,” 
“ will come of in the adjoining County of Dukes, at a very 
early day. Strong attempts have been made to make it 
appear that the skeletons found in the ruins of Goodwin’s 
dwelling, which our readers will remember was burned at 
the time of the murders, are not human bones ; but we 
have been at great pains to investigate this very material 
point, and have no hesitation in giving it as our profound 
conviction, that it will be made to appear that these mel- 
ancholy memorials are all that remain of the excellent 
couple who were so suddenly taken out of existence. We 
do not speak lightly on this subject, having gone to the 
fountain-head for our facts, as well as for our science.” 

“Hoof on McBrain !” muttered Dunscomb, arching his 
brows — this is much of a piece with quite one-half of 
the knowledge that is poured into the popular mind now- 
adays. Thank you, Stephen ; I will keep this paper, which 
may be of use at the trial.” 

“ I thought our opinions was vorth something more than 
nothing, sir,” answered the gratified coachman ; “a body 
doesn’t ride at all hours, day and night, year after year, 
and come out where he started. I vishes you to keep that 
’ere paper, squire, a little carefully, for it may be wanted 
in the college, where they reads all sorts of things, one of 
these days.” 

“It shall be cared for, my friend — I hear some one at 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


20 7 


the street-door bell. It is late for a call, and I fear Peter 
has gone to bed. See who is there, and good-night .’ 3 

Stephen withdrew, the ringing being repeated a little 
impatiently, and was soon at the street door. The fellow 
admitted the visitors, and went ruminating homeward, 
Dunscomb maintaining a very respectable reputation, in a 
bachelor point of view, for morals. As for the lawyer him- 
self, he was in the act of reading a second time the pre- 
cious opinion expressed in the journals, when the door of 
his library opened, a little hesitatingly it must be con- 
fessed, and two females stood on its threshold. Although 
his entirely unexpected visitors were so much muffled in 
shawls and veils it was not possible to distinguish even the 
outlines of their persons, Dunscomb fancied each was 
youthful and handsome, the instant he ca*st his eyes on 
them. The result showed how well he guessed. 

Throwing aside the garments that concealed their forms 
and faces, Mary Monson and Anna Updyke advanced in- 
to the room. The first was perfectly self-possessed and 
brilliantly handsome ; while her companion, flushed with 
excitement and exercise, was not much behind her in 
this important particular. Dunscomb started, and fancied 
there was felony, even in his hospitality. 

“ You know how difficult it is for me to travel by day- 
light,” commenced Mary Monson, in the most natural 
manner in the world ; “that, and the distance we had to 
drive, must explain the unseasonableness of this visit. You 
told me once, yourself, that you are both a late and an early 
man, which encouraged me to venture. Mr. Timms has 
written me a letter, which I have thought it might be well 
to show you. There it is; and when you have cast an eye 
over it, we will speak of its contents.” 

“ Why, this is very much like a conditional proposal of 
marriage !” cried Dunscomb, dropping the hand that held 
the letter, as soon as he had read the first paragraph. 
“ Conditional, so far as the result of your trial is con- 
cerned ! ” 

“ I forgot the opening of the epistle, giving very little 
thought to its purport ; though Mr. Timms has not writ- 
ten me a line lately that has not touched on this interest- 
ing subject. A mariage between him and me is so entirely 
out of the way of all the possibilities, that I look upon his 
advances as mere embellishment. I have answered him 
directly in the negative once, and that ought to satisfy any 
prudent person. They tell me no woman should marry 


2o8 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. 


a man she has once refused ; and I shall plead this as a 
reason for continued obduracy.” 

This was said pleasantly, and without the least appear- 
ance of resentment ; but in a way to show she regarded 
her attorney’s proposal as very much out of the beaten 
track. As for Dunscomb, he passed his hand over his 
brows, and read the rest of a pretty long letter with grave 
attention. The purely business part of this communica- 
tion was much to the point ; important, clearly put, and 
every way creditable to the writer. The lawyer read it at- 
tentively a second time, ere he once opened his mouth in 
comments. 

“ And why is this shown to me ? ” he asked, a little vexed, 
as was seen in his manner. “ I have told you it is felony 
to assist a prisoner in an attempt to escape.” 

“ I have shown it to you, because I have not the remotest 
intention, Mr. Dunscomb, to attempt anything of the sort. 
I shall not quit my asylum so easily.” 

“ Then why are you here, at this hour, with the certainty 
that most of the night must be passed on the road, if you 
mean to return to your prison ere the sun reappears ?” 

“ For air, exercise, and to show you this letter. I am 
often in town, but am compelled, for more reasons than 
you are acquainted with, to travel by night.” 

“ May I ask where you obtain a vehicle to make these 
journeys in ? ” 

“ I use my own carriage, and trust to a very long-tried 
and most faithful domestic. I think Miss Updyke will say 
he drove us not only carefully, but with great speed. On 
that score, we have no grounds of complaint. But I am 
very much fatigued, and must ask permission to sleep for 
an hour. You have a drawing-room, I take it for granted, 
Mr. Dunscomb ? ” 

“My niece fancies she has two. Shall 1 put lights in 
one of them ?” 

“ By no means. Anna knows the house as well as she 
does her mother’s, and will do the honors. On no account 
let Miss Wilmeter be disturbed. I am a little afraid of 
meeting her, since we have practised a piece of treachery 
touching Marie Moulin. But, no matter; one hour on a 
sofa, in a dark room, is all I ask. That will bring us to 
midnight, when the cairiage will again be at the door. You 
wish to see your mother, my dear, and here is a safe and 
very suitable attendant to accompany you to her house and 
back again.” . 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


209 


All this was said pleasantly, but with a singular air of 
authority, as if this mysterious being were accustomed to 
plan out and direct the movements of others. She had her 
way. In a minute or two she was stretched on a sofa, cov- 
ered with a shawl, the door was closed on her, and Duns- 
comb was on his way to Mrs. McRrain’s residence, which 
was at some distance from his own, with Anna leaning on 
his arm. 

“Of course, my dear,” said the lawyer, as he and his 
beautiful companion left his own door at that late hour of 
the night, “ we shall see no more of Mary Monson ?”- 

“Not see her again ! I should be very, very sorry to 
think that, sir ! ” 

“ She is no simpleton, and means to take Timms’s ad- 
vice. That fellow has written a strong letter, in no expec- 
tation of its being seen, I fancy, in which he points out a 
new source of danger; and plainly advises his client to ab- 
scond. I can see the infatuation of love in this ; for the 
letter, if produced, would bring him into great trouble.” 

“ And you suppose, sir, that Mary Monson intends to 
follow this advice ? ” 

“ Beyond a question. She is not only a very clever, but 
she is a very cunning woman. This last quality is one 
that I admire in liar the least. I should be half in love 
with her myself - this was exactly the state of the coun- 
sellor’s feelings toward his client, in spite of his bravado 
and affected discernment ; a woman’s charms often over- 
shadowing a philosophy that is deeper even than his— 
“but for this very trait, which I find little to my taste. I 
take it for granted you are sent home to be put under your 
mother’s care, where you properly belong ; and I am got 
out of the way to save me from the pains and penalties of 
an indictment for felony.” 

“ I think you do not understand Mary Monson, Uncle 
Tom ” — so Anna had long called her friend’s relative, as 
it might be in anticipation of the time when the appella- 
tion would be correct. “ She is not the sort of person to 
do as you suggest ; but would rather make it a point of 
honor to remain, and face any accusation whatever.” 

“She must have nerves of steel to confront justice in a 
case like hers, and in the present state of public feeling in 
Dukes. Justice is a very pretty thing to talk about, my 
dear ; but we old practitioners know that it is little more, 
in human hands, than the manipulations of human pas- 
sions. Of late years, the outsiders— outside barbarians 

14 


210 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


they might very properly be termed — have almost as much 
to do with the result of any warmly-coritested suit as the 
law and evidence. 1 Who is on the jury ?’ is the first ques- 
tion asked nowadays ; not what are the facts. I have told 
all this very plainly to Mary Monson ” 

“ To induce her to fly ? ’’asked Anna, prettily, and a little 
smartly. 

“ Not so much that, as to induce her to consent to an 
application for delay. The judges of this country are so 
much overworked, so little paid, and usually are so neces- 
sitous, that almost any application for delay is granted. 
Business at chambers is sadly neglected ; for that is done 
in a corner, and does not address itself to the public eye, 
or seek public eulogiums ; but he is thought the cleverest 
fellow who will soonest sweep out a crowded calendar. 
Causes are tried by tallow candles until midnight, with 
half the jurors asleep ; and hard-workingmen, accustomed 
to be asleep by eight each night, are expected to keep 
their thoughts and minds active in the face of all these ob- 
stacles.” 

“Do you tell me this, Uncle Tom, in the expectation 
that I am to understand it ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, child ; but my heart is full of the 
failing justice of the land. We shout^iosannas in praise of 
the institutions, while we shut our eyes to the gravest con- 
sequences that are fast undermining us in the most impor- 
tant of all our interests. But here we are already ; I had 
no notion we had walked so fast. Yes, there is Papa Mc- 
B rain’s one-horse vehicle, well emptied of its contents, I 
hope, by a hard day’s work.” 

“A doctor’s life must be so laborious !” exclaimed the 
pretty Anna. “ I think nothing could tempt me to marry 
a physician.” 

“It is well a certain lady of our acquaintance was not of 
your way of thinking,” returned Dunscomb, laughing ; for 
his good humor always returned when he could give his 
friend a rub on his matrimonial propensities, “else would 
McBrain have been troubled to get his last and best. 
Never mind, my dear, he is a good-natured fellow, and will 
make a very kind papa.” 

Anna made no reply, but rang the bell a little pettishly , 
for no child likes to have a mother married a second 
time, there being much greater toleration for fathers, and 
asked her companion in. As the wife of a physician in 
full practice, the bride had already changed many of her 


THE IV A VS OF THE HOUR. 


211 


long-cherished habits. In this respect however, she, did 
no more than follow the fortunes pf woman, who' so cheer- 
fully makes any sacrifice in behalf of him. she loves. If 
men were only one-half as disinterested as , self-denying, 
and as true as the other sex, in all that relates to the affec- 
tions, what a blessed state would , that of matrimony be ! 
Still, there are erring, and selfish, and domineering, and 
capricious, vain, heartless, and self-willed females, whom 
nature never intended for married life, and who are guilty 
of a species of profanation when they stand up and vow to 
love, honor, and obey their husbands. Many of these dis- 
regard their solemn pledges, made at the altar, and under 
the immediate invocation of. the Deify, as they would dis- 
regard a promise made in jest, and think no more of the 
duties and offices that are so peculiarly the province of 
their sex, than of the passing and idle promises of vanity. 
But, if such women exist, and that they do our daily ex- 
perience proves, they are as exceptions to the great law of 
female faith, which is tenderness and truth. They are not 
women in character, whatever they may be in appearance, 
but creatures in the guise of a sex that they discredit and 
caricature. 

Mrs. McBrain was not a person of the disposition just 
described. She was gentle and good, and bid fair to make 
the evening of her second husband’s days very happy. 
Sooth to say, she was a good deal in love, notwithstanding 
her time of life, and the still more mature years of the 
bridegroom ; and had been so much occupied with the 
duties and cares that belonged to her recent change of 
condition as to be a little forgetful of her daughter. At 
no other period of their joint lives would she have permit- 
ted this beloved child to be absent from her, under such 
circumstances' without greater care for her safety and 
comforts ; but there is a honey-week, as well as a honey- 
moon ; and the intenseness of its feelings might very well 
disturb the ordinary round of even maternal duties. Glad 
enough, however, was she now to see her daughter, when 
Anna, blooming, and smiling, and blushing, flew into her 
mother’s arms. 

“ There she is, widow — Mrs. Updyke — I beg pardon — - 
married woman, and Mrs. McBrain,” cried Dunscomb. 
“ Ned is such an uneasy fellow, he keeps all his friends in 
a fever with his emotions, and love, and matrimony ;-and 
that just suits him, as he has only to administer a pill and 
set all right again. But there she is, safe and unmarried , 


212 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


thank Heaven ; which is always a sort of consolation to 
me. She’s back again, and you will do well to keep her 
until my nephew, Jack, comes to ask permission to carry 
her off for good and all.” 

Anna blushed more deeply than ever, while the mother 
smiled and embraced her child. Then succeeded questions 
and answers, until Mrs. McBrain had heard the whole 
story of her daughter’s intercourse with Mary Monson, so 
far as it has been made known to the reader. Beyond 
that, Anna did not think herself authorized to go ; or, if 
she made any revelation, it would be premature for us to 
repeat it. 

“ Here we are, all liable to be indicted for felony,” cried 
Dunscomb, as soon as the young lady had told her tale. 
“ Timms will be hanged, in place of his client ; and we 
three will have cells at Sing Sing, as accessories before the 
act. Yes, my dear bride, you are what the law terms a 
‘particeps criminis,’ and may look out for the sheriff before 
you are a week older.” 

“And why all this, Mr. Dunscomb?” demanded the 
half-amused, half-frightened Mrs. McBrain. 

“For aiding and abetting a prisoner in breaking jail. 
Mary Monson is off, beyond a question. She lay down 
in Sarah’s drawing-room, pretending to be wearied, ten 
minutes since, and has, no doubt, got through with her 
nap already, and is on her way to Canada, or Texas, or 
California, or some other out-of-the-way country — Cuba, 
for aught I know.” 

“ Is this so, think you, Anna ? ” 

“ I do not, mamma. So far from believing Mary Mon- 
son to be flying to any out-of-the-way place, I have no 
doubt that we shall find her fast asleep on Mr. Dunscomb’s 
sofa.” 

“ Uncle Dunscomb’s sofa, if you please, young lady.” 

“No, sir; I shall call you uncle .no longer,” answered 
Anna, blushing scarlet — “ until — until ” 

“ You have a legal claim to the use of the word. Well, 
that will come in due time, I trust ; if not, it shall be my 
care to see you have a title to a still dearer appellation. 
There, widow — Mrs. McBrain, I mean — I think you will 
do. But, seriously, child, you cannot imagine that Mary 
Monson means ever to return to her prison, there to be 
tried for life ? ” 

“ If there is faith in woman, she does sir ; else would I 
not have exposed myself to the risk of accompanying her.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


213 


“ In what manner did you come to town, Anna ?” asked 
the anxious mother. “Are you not now at the mercy of 
some driver of a hackney-coach, or of some public cab- 
man ? ” 

“ I understand that the carriage which was in waiting 
for us, half a mile from Biberry, is Mrs. Monson’s ” 

“.Mrs. !” interrupted Dunscomb. “Is she, then, a mar- 
ried woman ? ” 

Anna looked down, trembled, and was conscious of hav- 
ing betrayed a secret. So very precious to herself had 
been the communication of Marie Moulin on this point, 
that it was ever uppermost in her thoughts ; and it had 
now escaped her under an impulse she could not control. 
It was too late, however, to retreat ; and a moment’s reflec- 
tion told her it would every way be better to tell all she 
knew on this one point at least. 

This was soon done, for even Marie Moulin’s means of 
information were somewhat limited. This Swiss had for- 
merly known the prisoner by another name, though what 
name she would not reveal. This was in Europe, where 
Marie had actually passed three years in this mysterious 
person’s employment. Marie had even come to America, 
in consequence of this connection, at the death of her own 
mother ; but, unable to find her former mistress, had taken 
service with Sarah Wilmeter. Mary Monson was single 
and un betrothed when she left Europe. Such was Marie 
Moulin’s statement. But it was understood she was now 
married ; though to whom, she could not say. If Anrfa 
Updyke knew more than this, she did not reveal it at that 
interview. 

“Ah ! Here is another case of a wife’s elopement from 
her husband,” interrupted Dunscomb, as soon as Anna 
reached this point in her narration; “and I dare say some- 
thing or other will be found in this wretched code to up- 
hold her in her disobedience. You have done well to 
marry, Mrs. McBrain ; for, according to the modern opin- 
ions in these matters, instead of providing yourself with a 
lord and master, you have only engaged an upper servant.” 

“ No true-hearted woman can look upon her husband in 
so degrading a light,” answered the bride, with spirit. 

“ That will do for three days, but wait to the end of three 
years. There are runaway wives enough, at this moment, 
roaming up and down the land, setting the laws of God 
and man at defiance, and jingling their purses, when they 
happen to have money, under their lawful husbands’. noses ; 


214 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


ay, enough to set up a three-tailed pacha ! But this dam- 
nable code will uphold them, in some shape or other, my 
life for it. One can’t endure her husband because he 
smokes ; another finds fault with his not going to church 
but once a day ; another quarrels with him for going three 
times ; another says he has too much dinner-company ; and 
another protests she can’t get a male friend inside of her 
house. All these ladies, forgetful as they are of their 
highest earthly duties* forgetful as they are of woman’s 
'very nature, are the models of divine virtues, and lay 
claim to the sympathies of mankind. They get those of 
fools, but prudent and reflecting men shake their heads at 
such wandering deesses.” 

“ You are severe on us women, Mr. Dunscomb,” said the 
bride. 

“Not on you, my dear Mrs. Me Brain — never a syllable 
pn you. But go on, child ; I have had the case of one of 
these vagrant wives in my hands, and know how mistaken 
has been the disposition to pity her. Men lean to the 
woman’s side ; but the frequency of the abuse is beginning 
to open the eyes of the public. Go on, Anna dear, and let 
us hear it all — or all you have to tell ‘us.” 

Very little remained to be related. Marie Moulin, her- 
self, knew very little of that which had occurred since her 
separation from her present mistress in France. She did 
make one statement, however, that Anna had deemed very 
important ; but which she felt bound to keep as a secret, 
in consequence of the injunctions received from the Swiss. 

“ I should have a good deal to say about this affair,” ob- 
served Dunscomb, when his beautiful companion was done, 
“did I believe that we shall find Mary Monson on our 
return to my house. In that case, I should say to you, my 
dear widow— Mrs. McBrain, I mean — the devil take that 
fellow Ned, he’ll have half the women in town bearing his 
name before he is done. Well, Heaven be praised ! he can 
neither marry me, nor give me a step-father, let him do his 
very best. There’s comfort in that consideration, at any 
rate.” 

“You were about to tell us what you would do,” put in 
the bride, slightly vexed, yet too well assured of the coun- 
sellor’s attachment to her husband to feel angry; “you 
must know how much value we give to your advice.” 

“ I was about to say that Anna should not return to this 
mysterious convict— no, she is not yet convicted, but she is 
indicted, and that is something— but return she should not, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


215 

were there the least chance of our finding her on our return 
home. Let her go then, and satisfy her curiosity, and pass 
the night with Sarah, who must be through with her first 
nap by this time.” 

Anna urged her mother to consent to this arrangement, 
putting forward her engagement with Mary Monson, not 
to desert her ; McBrain driving to the door, from paying 
his last visit that night, his wife gave her assent to the 
proposition ; the tenderest mother occasionally permitting 
another and more powerful feeling to usurp the place of 
maternal care. Mrs. McBrain, it must be admitted, thought 
more of the bridegroom, sixty as he was, than of her charm- 
ing daughter ; nor was she yet quite free from the awkward- 
ness that ever accompanies a new connection of this nature 
when there are grown-up children, more especially on the 
part of the female. Then Anna had communicated to her 
mother a most material circumstance, which it does not 
suit our present purpose to reveal. 

“Now for a dozen pair of gloves that we do not find 
Mary Monson,” said the lawyer, as he walked smartly 
toward his own residence, with Anna Updyke under his 
arm. 

“Done!” cried the young lady — “and you shall pay if 
you lose.” 

“As bound in honor. Peter” — the gray-headed black 
who answered the summons to the door — “ will be glad 
enough to see us, for the old fellow is not accustomed to 
let his young rogue of a master in at midnight, with a 
charming young woman under his arm.” 

Anna Updyke was right. Mary Monson was in a deep 
sleep on the sofa. So profound was her rest, there was a 
hesitation about disturbing her; though twelve, the hour 
set for the return of the carriage to Biberry, was near. 
For a few minutes Dunscomb conversed with his agreeable 
companion in his own library. 

“ If Jack knew of your being in the house, he would 
never forgive my not having him called.” 

“ I shall have plenty of occasions for seeing Jack,” re- 
turned the young lady, coloring. “You know how assid- 
uous he is in this cause, and how devoted he is to the 
prisoner.” 

“ Do not run away with any such notion, child ; Jack is 
yours, heart and soul.” 

“ Hist — there is the carriage ; Mary must be called.” 

Away went Anna, laughing, blushing, but with tears in 


2l6 


THE WAYS OF THE IIOVR. 


her eyes. In a minute Mary Monson made her appear- 
ance, "somewhat refreshed and calmed by her sliort nap. 

“Make no excuse for waking me,” said this unaccount- 
able woman. “We can both sleep on the road. The 
carriage is as easy as a cradle ; and, luckily, the roads are 
quite good.” 

“ Still they lead to a prison, Mrs. Monson.” 

The prisoner smiled, and seemed to be lost in thought. 
It was the first time any of her new acquaintances had 
ever addressed her as a married woman ; though Marie 
Moulin, with the exception of her first exclamation at their 
recent meeting, had invariably used the appellation of 
Madame. All this, however, was soon forgotten in the 
leave-taking. Dunscomb thought he had seldom seen a 
female of higher tone of manners, or greater personal 
charms, than this singular and mysterious young woman 
appeared to be, as she courtesied her adieu. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

What then avail impeachments, or the law’s 

Severest condemnation, while the queen 

May snatch him from the uplifted hand of justice? 

— Earl of Essex. 

Perhaps the most certain proof that any people can give 
of a high moral condition, is in the administration of jus- 
tice. Absolute infallibility is unattainable to men ; but 
there are wide chasms in right and wrong, between the 
legal justice of one state of society and that of another. 
As the descendants of Englishmen, we in this country are 
apt to ascribe a higher tone of purity to the courts of the 
mother country, than to those of any other European 
nation. In this we may be right, without inferring the ne- 
cessity of believing that the ermine of England is spotless ; 
for it can never be forgotten that Bacon and Jeffries once 
filled her highest judicial seats, to say nothing of many 
others, whose abuses of their trusts have doubtless been 
lost in their comparative obscurity. Passing from the 
parent to its offspring, the condition of American justice, 
so far as it is dependent on the bench, is a profound moral 
anomaly. It would seem that every known expedient of 
man has been resorted to, to render it corrupt, feeble, and 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. 


217 


ignorant ; yet he would be a hardy, not to say an audacious 
commentator, who should presume to affirm that it is not 
entitled to stand in the very foremost ranks of human in- 
tegrity. 

Ill paid, without retiring pensions, with nothing to ex- 
pect in the way of family and hereditary honors and dig- 
nities ; with little, in short, either in possession or in pros- 
spect, to give any particular inducement to be honest, it is 
certain that, as a whole, the judges of this great republic 
may lay claim to be classed among the most upright of 
which history furnishes any accounts. Unhappily, popular 
caprice, and popular ignorance, have been brought to bear 
on the selection of the magistrates, of late ; and it is easy 
to predict the result, which, like that on the militia, is soon 
to pull down even this all-important machinery of society 
to the level of the common mind. 

Not only have the obvious and well-earned inducements 
to keep men honest — coinpetence, honors, and security in 
office — been recklessly thrown away by the open hand , of 
popular delusion, but all the minor expedients, by which 
those who cannot think might be made to feel, have been 
laid aside, leaving the machinery of justice as naked as the 
hand. Although the colonial system was never elaborated 
in these last particulars, there were some of its useful and 
respectable remains, down as late as the commencement 
of the present century. The sheriff appeared with his 
sword, the judge was escorted to and from the court-house 
to his private dwelling with some show of attention and 
respect, leaving a salutary impression of authority on the 
ordinary observer. All this has disappeared. The judge 
slips into the county-town almost unknowm ; lives at an 
inn amid a crowd of lawyers, witnesses, suitors, jurors, and 
horse-shedders, as Timms calls them ; finds his way to the 
bench as best he may; and seems to think that the more 
work he can do in the shortest time is the one great 
purpose of his appointment. Nevertheless, these men, 
as yet, are surprisingly incorrupt and intelligent. How 
long it will remain so, no one can predict ; if it be for a 
human life, however, the working of the problem will dem- 
onstrate the fallibility of every appreciation of human 
motives. One bad consequence of the depreciation of the 
office of a magistrate, however, has long been apparent, in 
the lessening of the influence of the judge on the juries ; 
the power that alone renders the latter institution even 
tolerable. This is putting an* irresponsible, usually an ig- 


2l8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


norant, and often corrupt arbiter, in the judgment seat, 
in lieu of the man of high qualities, for which it was alone 
intended. The Circuit and Oyer and Terminer for Dukes 
presented nothing novel in its bench, its bar, its jurors, 
and, we- might add, its witnesses. The first was a cool- 
headed, dispassionate man, with a very respectable amount 
of legal learning and experience, and a perfectly fair char- 
acter. No one suspected him of acting wrong from evil, 
motives ; and when he did err, it was ordinarily from the 
pressure of business; though, occasionally, he was mistaken, 
because the books could not foresee every possible phase of 
a case. The bar was composed of plain, hard-working men, 
materially above the level of Timms, except in connection 
with mother-wit ; better educated, better mannered, and, 
as a whole, of materially higher origin ; though, as a body, 
neither profoundly learned nor of refined deportment. 
Nevertheless, these persons had a very fair portion of all 
the better qualities of the Northern professional men* 
They were shrewd, quick in the application of their ac- 
quired knowledge, ready in their natural resources, and 
had that general aptitude for affairs that probably is the 
fruit of a practice that includes all the different branches 
of the profession. Here and there was a usurer and extor- 
tioner among them ; a fellow who disgraced his calling by 
running up unnecessary bills of cost, by evading the penal 
statutes passed to prevent abuses of this nature, and by cun- 
ning attempts to obtain more for the use of his money than 
the law sanctioned. But such was not the general character 
of the Dukes County bar, which was rather to be censured 
for. winking at irregular proceedings out of doors, for 
brow-beating witnesses, and for regarding the end so in- 
tensely as not always to be particular in reference to the 
means, than for such gross and positively illegal and op- 
pressive measures as those just mentioned. As for the 
jurors, they were just what that ancient institution might 
be supposed to be, in a country where so many of the 
body of the people are liable to be summoned. An un- 
usually large proportion of these men, when all the cir- 
cumstances are considered, were perhaps as fit to be thus 
employed as could be obtained from the body of the com- 
munity of any country on earth ; but a very serious num- 
ber were altogether unsuited to perform the delicate du- 
ties of their station. Fortunately the ignorant are very 
apt to be influenced by the more intelligent, in cases of 
this nature ; and by this exercise of a very natural power, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


219 


less injustice is committed than might otherwise occur. 
Here, however, is the opening for the “ horse-she&ding ” 
and “pillowing,” of which Timms has spoken, and "of 
which so much use is made around every country court- 
house in the State. This is the crying evil of the times ; 
and, taken in connection with the enorm'ouS abuse which 
is rendering a competition in news a regular money-get- 
ting occupation, one that threatens to ' set at defiance all 
laws, principles, and facts. 

A word remains to be said of the witnesses. Perhaps 
the rarest thing 'connected with the administration of 
justice all over the world, is an intelligent, perfectly im- 
partial, clear-headed, discriminating witness; one who 
distinctly knows all he says, fully appreciates the effect of 
his words on the jury, and who has the disposition to sub- 
mit what he knows solely to the law and the evidence. 
Men of experience are of opinion that an oath usually ex- 
tracts the truth. A^,e think so too, but it is truth as the 
witness understands it; facts as he has seen them; and 
opinions that, unconsciously to himself, have been warped 
by reports, sneers and malice. In a country of popular 
sway like this, there is not one man in a thousand, prob- 
ably, who has sufficient independence of mind, or suffi- 
cient moral courage, to fancy he has seen even a fact, if it 
be of importance, differently from what the body of the 
community has seen it ; and nothing is more common than 
to find witnesses coloring their testimony, lessening its 
force by feeble statements, or altogether abandoning tire 
truth, under this pressure from without, in cases of a nat- 
ure and magnitude to awake a strong popular feeling. It 
is by no means uncommon, indeed, to ^persuade one class 
of men, by means of this influence, that they did not see 
that which actually occurred before their eyes, or that 
they did see that which never had an existence. 

Under no “circumstances do men congregate with less 
meritorious motives than in meeting in and around a court 
of justice. The object is victory, and the means of obtain- 
ing it will not always bear the light. The approaching 
Circuit and Oyer and Terminer of Dukes was no excep- 
tion to the rule ; a crowd of evil passions, of sinister prac- 
tices, and of plausible pretenges, being arrayed against 
justice and the law in two-thirds of the causes on the cal- 
endar. Then it was that Timms and Saucy Williams, or 
Dick Williams, as he was familiarly termed by his asso- 
ciates, came out in their strength, playing off against each 


220 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR. 


qther the out-door practices of the profession. The first 
indication that the former now got of the very serious 
character of the struggle that was about to take place be- 
tween them was in the extraordinary civility of saucy 
Williams when they met in the bar-room of the inn they 
each frequented, and which had long been the arena of 
their antagonistical wit and practices. 

“I never saw you look better, Timms,” said Williams, 
in the most cordial manner imaginable ; “on the whole, I 
do not remember to have ever seen you looking so well. 
You grow younger instead of older, every day of your life. 
By the way, do you intend to move on Butterfield against 
Town this circuit ? ” 

“ I should be glad to do it, if you are ready. Cross-no- 
tices have been given, you know.” 

Williams knew this very well ; and he also knew that it 
had been done to entitle the respective parties to costs, in 
the event of anything occurring to give either side an ad- 
vantage ; the cause being one of tho$e nuts out of which 
practitioners are very apt to extract the whole of the ker- 
nel before they are done with it. 

“Yes, I am aware of that, and I believe we are quite 
ready. I see that Mr. Town is here, and I observe several 
of his witnesses ; but I have so much business, I have no 
wish to try a long slander cause; words spoken in heat, 
and never thought of again, but to make a profit of 
them.” 

“You are employed against us in the murder case, I 
hear ?” 

“ I rather think the friends of the deceased so regard it ; 
but I have scarcely had time to look at the testimony be- 
fore the coroner.” This was a deliberate mystification, 
and Timms perfectly understood it as such, well knowing 
that the other had given the outdoor work of the case 
nearly all of his time for the last fortnight— “ and I don’t 
like to move in one of these big matters without knowing 
what I am about. Your senior counsel lias not yet arrived 
from town, I believe?” 

“ He cannot be here until Wednesday, having to argue 
a great insurance case before the Superior Court to-day 
and to-morrow.” 

This conversation occdrred after the grand jury had 
been charged, the petit jurors sworn, and the judge had 
several motions for correcting the calendar, laying causes 
over, etc., etc. Two hours later, the district attorney be- 


THE WA YS OF THE HO UR . 


221 


ing absent in his room, engaged with the grand jury, Wil- 
liams arose, and addressed the court, which had just called 
the first civil cause on the calendar. 

“May it please the court,” he said, coolly, but with the 
grave aspect of a man who felt he was dealing with a very 
serious matter — “ there is a capital indictment depending, 
a case of arson and murder, which it is the intention of 
the State to call on at once.” 

The judge looked still more grave than the counsel, and 
it was easy to, see that he deeply regretted it should fall to 
his lot to try such an issue. He leaned forward, with an 
elbow on the very primitive sort of desk with which he 
was furnished by the public, indented it with the point of 
his knife, and appeared to be passing in review such of 
the circumstances of this important case as he had become 
acquainted with, judicially. We say “judicially for it is 
not an easy thing for either judge, counsel, or jurors, in 
the state of society that now exists, to keep distinctly in 
their minds that which has been obtained under legal 
evidence, from that which floats about the community on 
the thousand tongues of rumor — -fact from fiction. Never- 
theless,, the respectable magistrate whose misfortune itw T as 
to preside on this very serious occasion, was a man to per- 
form all his duty to the point where public opinion or 
popular clamor is encountered. The last is a bugbear that 
few have moral courage to face ; and the evil consequences 
are visible, hourly, daily, almost incessantly, in most, of 
the interests of life. This popular feeling is the great 
moving lever of the republic ; the wronged being placed 
beneath the fulcrum, while the outer arm of the engine is 
loaded with numbers. Thus it is that we see the oldest 
families among us quietly robbed of their estates, after 
generations of possession ; the honest man proscribed ; the 
knave and demagogue deified ; mediocrity advanced to 
high places ; and talents and capacity held in abeyance, if 
not actuallv trampled under foot. Let the truth be said : 
these are evils to which each year gives additional force, 
until the tyranny of the majority has taken a form and 
combination which, unchecked, must speedily place every 
personal right at the mercy of plausible, but wrong-doing, 
popular combinations. 

“Has the prisoner been arraigned?” asked the judge. 
“I remember nothing of the sort.” 

“No, your honor,” answered Timms, now rising for the 
first time in the discussion, and looking about him as if to 


222 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


scan the crbwd for witnesses. “The prosecution does not 
yet know the plea we shall put in.” 

“You are retained for the prisoner, Mr. Timms?” 

“Yes, sir; I appear in her behalf. But Mr. Dunscomb 
is also retained, and will be engaged in the New York Su- 
perior Court until Wednesday, in an insurance case of 
great magnitude.” 

“No insurance case can be of the magnitude of a trial 
for life,” returned Williams. <{ The justice of the State 
must be vindicated, and the person of the citizen pro- 
tected.” 

This sounded well, and it caused many a head in the 
crowd, which contained both witnesses and jurors, to nod 
with approbation. It is true that ever)' thoughtful and 
observant man must have 'had many occasions to observe 
how fallacious such a declaration is in truth ; but it sounded 
well, and the ears of the multitude are always open to ftftt- 
tery. 

“We have no wish to interfere with the justice of the 
State, or with the protection of the citizen,” answered 
Timms, looking round to note the effect of his words — 
“our object is to defend the innocent ; and the great and 
powerful community of New York will find more pleasure 
in seeing an accused acquitted than in seeing fifty crimi- 
nals condemned.” 

This sentiment sounded quite as well as that of Wil- 
liams’s, and heads were again nodded in approbation. It 
told particularly well in a paragraph of a newspaper that 
Timms had engaged to publish what he considered his best 
remarks. 

“It seems to me, gentlemen,” interposed the judge, who 
understood the meaning of these ad captandum remarks 
perfectly well, “that your conversation is premature at 
least, if not altogether improper. Nothing of this nature 
should be said until the prisoner has been arraigned.” 

“ I submit, your honor, and acknowledge the justice of 
the reproof,” answered Williams. “I now move the court, 
on behalf of the district attorney, that Mary Monson, who 
stands indicted for murder and arson, be arraigned, and her 
pleas entered ” 

“ I could wish this step might be delayed until I can hear 
from the leading counsel for the defence,” objected Timms, 
“which must now occur in the course of a very few hours.” 

“ I perceive that the prisoner is a female,” said the judge, 
in a tone of regret. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


223 


“Yes, your honor, she is, and young and handsome, they 
tell me,” answered Williams ; “ for I have never been able 
to get a sight of her. She is too much of a great lady to 
be seen at a grate, by all I can learn of her- and her pro- 
ceedings. Plays on the harp, sir; has a French valet de 
chambre , or something of that sort ” 

“This is all wrong, Mr. Williams, and must be checked,” 
again interposed the judge, though very mildly ; for, while 
his experience taught him that the object of spell remarks 
was to create prejudice, and Iiis conscience prompted him 
to put an end to a proceeding so unrighteous, he stood in 
so much awe of this particular counsel, who had half a 
dozen presses at his command, that it required a strong 
inducement to bring him out, as lie ought to be, in oppo- 
sition to any of his more decided movements. As for the 
community, with the best intentions as a whole, it stood 
passive under this gross wrong. What is “everybody’s 
business” is literally “ nobody’s business,” when the public 
virtue is the great moving power ; the upright preferring 
their ease to everything else, and the ill-disposed manifest- 
ing the ceaseless activity of the wicked. All the ancient 
barriers to this species of injustice, which have. been erected 
by the gathered wisdom of. our fathers and the experience 
of ages, have been thrown down by the illusions of a seem- 
ing liberty, and the whole machinery of justice is left very 
much at the mercy of an outside public opinion, which, in 
itself, is wielded by a few of the worst men in the country. 
These are sober truths, as a close examination will show to 
any one who may choose to enter into the investigation of 
the ungrateful subject. It is not what is said y we very well 
know ; but it is what is done. 

Williams received the mild rebuke of the judge like one 
who felt his position ; paying very little respect to its spirit 
or its letter. He knew his own power, and understood per- 
fectly well that this particular magistrate was soon to run 
for a new term of office, and might be dealt with more 
freely on that account. 

“ I know it is very wrong, your honor — very wrong ” — 
rejoined the wily counsel to what had been said — “so 
wrong, that I regard it as an insult to the State. When a 
person i$ capitally indicted, man or woman, it is his or her 
bounden dutv to put all overboard, that there may be no 
secrets. The harp was once a sacred instrument, and it is 
highly improper to introduce it into our jails and criminals’ 
cells ” 


224 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


“There is no criminal as yet — no crime can be estab- 
lished without proof, and the verdict of twelve good men 
and true,” interrupted Timms — “I object, therefore, to the 
learned counsel's remarks, and ” 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” put in the judge, a little more 
pointedly than in his former rebuke- — “ this is all wrong, I 
repeat.” 

“You perceive, my brother Timms,” rejoined the indom- 
itable Williams, “ the court is altogether against you. This 
is not a country of lords and ladies, fiddles and harps, but 
of the people / and when the people find a bill for a capital 
offence, capital care should be taken not to give more 
offence.” 

Williams had provided himself with a set of supporters 
that are common enough in the courts, whose business it 
was to grin, and sneer, and smile, and look knowing at 
particular hits of. the counsel, and otherwise to back up 
his wit, and humor, and logic, by the agency of sympathy. 
This expedient is getting to be quite common, and is con- 
stantly practised in suits that relate in any manner to poli- 
tics or political men. It is not so common, certainly, in 
trials for life ; though it may be, and has been, used with 
effect even on such serious occasions. The influence of 
these wily demonstrations, which are made to have the ap- 
pearance of public opinion, is very great on the credulous 
and ignorant ; men thus narrowly gifted invariably look- 
ing around them to find support in the common mind. 

The hits of Williams told, to Timms’s great annoyance ; 
nor did he know exactly how to parry them. Had he 
been the assailant himself, he could have wielded the 
weapons of his antagonist with equal skill ; but his dex- 
terity was very much confined to the offensive in cases of 
this nature ; for he perfectly comprehended all the preju- 
dices on which it was necessary to act, while he possessed 
but a very narrow knowledge of the means of correcting 
them. Nevertheless, it would not do to let the prosecu- 
tion close the business of the day with so much of the air 
of triumph, and the indomitable attorney made another 
effort to place his client more favorably before the public 
eye. 

“ The harp is a most religious instrument,” he coolly ob- 
served, “ and it has no relation to the violin, or any light 
and frivolous piece of music. David used it as the instru- 
ment of praise, and why should not a person who stands 
charged ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


225 


“ I have told you, gentlemen, that all this is irregular, 
and cannot be permitted,” cried the judge, with a little 
more of the appearance of firmness than he had yet ex- 
hibited. 

The truth was, that he stood less in fear of Timms than 
of Williams ; the connection of the last with the reporters 
being known to be much the most extensive. But Timms 
knew his man, and understood very w’ell what the com- 
mittal of counsel had got to be, under the loose notions 
of liberty that have grown up in the country within the 
last twenty years. Time was, and that at no remote period, 
when the lawyer who had been thus treated for indecorum 
at the bar would have been a disgraced man, and would 
have appeaiecfin vain to the community for sympathy; 
little or none would lie have received. Men then under- 
stood that the law was their master, established by them- 
selves, and was to be respected accordingly. But that 
feeling is in a great measure extinct. Liberty is every 
hour getting to be more and more personal ; its concen- 
tration consisting in rendering every man his own legisla- 
tor, his own judge, and his own juror. It is monarchical 
and aristocratic, and all that is vile and dangerous, to see 
power exercised by any but the people ; and those whom 
the constitution and the laws have set apart expressly to 
discharge a delegated authority being obliged, by clamors 
sustained by all the arts of cupidity and fraud, to defer to 
the passing opinions of the hour. No one knew this bet- 
ter than Timms, who had just as lively a recollection as 
his opponent that this very judge was to come before the 
people in the next autumn, as a candidate for re-election. 
The great strain of American foresight was consequently 
applied to this man’s conscience, who, overworked and 
under-paid, was expected to rise above the weaknesses of 
humanity, as a sort of sublimated political theory that is 
getting to be much in fashion, and which, if true , would 
supersede the -necessity of any court or any government 
at all. Timms knew this well, and was not to be restrained 
by one who was thus stretched, as it might be, on the ten- 
ter-hooks of political uncertainty. 

“Yes, your honor,” returned this indomitable. individual, 
“ I am fully aware of its impropriety, and was just as much 
so when the counsel for the prosecution was carrying it 
on to the injury of my client ; I might say almost un- 
checked, if not encouraged.” 

“The court did its best to stop Mr. Williams, sir ; and 


226 THE WAYS Oh THE HOUR. 

must do the same to keep you within the proper limits of 
practice. Unless these improprieties are restrained I shall 
confine the counsel for the State to the regular officer, 
and assign new counsel to the accused, as from the court.” 

Both Williams and Timms looked amused at this men- 
ace, neither having the smallest notion the judge dare put 
such a threat in execution. What ! presume to curb 
licentiousness when it chose to assume the aspect of hu- 
man rights ? This was an act behind the age, more espe- 
cially in a country in which liberty is so fast getting to be 
all means, with so very little regard to the end. 

A desultory conversation ensued, when it was finally 
settled that the trial must be postponed until the arrival 
of the counsel expected from town. From the beginning 
of the discussion, Williams knew that such must be the 
termination of that day’s work ; but he had accomplished 
two great objects by his motion. In the first place, by 
conceding delay to the accused it placed the prosecution 
on ground where a similar favor might be asked, should it 
be deemed expedient. This resisting motions for delay is 
a common ruse of the bar, since it places the party whose 
rights are seemingly postponed in a situation to demand a 
similar concession. Williams knew that his case was ready 
as related to his brief, the testimony, and all that could 
properly be produced in court, but he thought it might be 
strengthened out of doors, among the jurors and witnesses. 
We say the witnesses, because even this class of men get 
their impressions, quite frequently, as much from what 
they subsequently hear, as from what they have seen and 
known. A good reliable witness, who relates no more 
than he actually knows, conceals nothing, colors nothing, 
and leaves a perfectly fair impression of the truth, is per- 
haps the rarest of all the parties concerned in the admin- 
istration of justice. No one understood this better than 
Williams ; and his agents were, at that very cioment, ac- 
tively employed in endeavoring to persuade certain indi- 
viduals that they knew a great deal more of the facts con- 
nected with the murders than the truth would justify. 
This was not done openly, or directly; not in a way to 
alarm the consciences or pride of those who were to be 
duped, but by the agency of hints, and suggestions, and 
plausible reasonings, and all the other obvious devices, by 
means of which the artful and unprincipled are enabled 
to act on the opinions of the credulous and inexperi- 
enced. 


THE W AYS OF THE HOUR. 


22 7 


While all these secret engines were at work in the streets 
of Biberrv the external machinery of justice was set in 
motion with the usual forms. Naked, but business-like, 
the blind goddess was invoked with what is termed “ re- 
publican simplicity,” one of the great principles of which, 
in some men’s estimation, is to get the maximum of work 
at the minimum of cost. We are no advocates for the 
senseless parade and ruthless expenditure — ruthless, be- 
cause extracted from the means of the poor — with which 
the governments of the old world have invested their dig- 
nity ; and we believe that the reason of men may be con- 
fided in, in managing these matters, to a certain extent; 
though not to the extent that it would seem- to be the 
fashion of the American theories, to be desirable. Wigs 
of all kinds, even when there is a deficiency of hair, we 
hold in utter detestation ; and we shall maintain that no 
more absurd scheme of clothing the human countenance 
with terror was ever devised than to clothe it with flax. 
Nevertheless, as comfort, decency, and taste unite in rec- 
ommending clothing of some sort or other, we do not see 
why the judicial functionary should not have his appro- 
priate attire as well as the soldier, the sailor, or the priest. 
It does not necessarily follow that extravagances are to be 
imitated if we submit to this practice ; though we incline 
to the opinion that a great deal of the nakedness of “ re- 
publican simplicity,” which has got to be a sort of political 
idol in the land, has its origin in a spirit that denounces 
the p&st as a species of moral sacrifice to the present time. 

Let all this be as it may, it is quite certain that “ repub- 
lican simplicity ” — the slang lever by means of which the 
artful move the government — has left the administration 
of justice among us, so far as externals are concerned, as 
naked as may be. Indeed, so much have the judges become 
exposed to sinister influences, by means of the intimacies 
with which they are invested by means of “ republican 
simplicity,” that it has been found expedient to make a 
special provision against undue modes of approaching 
their ears, all of which would have been far more effi- 
ciently secured by doubling their salaries, making a re- 
spectable provision for old age in the way of pensions, and 
surrounding them with such forms as would keep the evil 
disposed at reasonable distance. Neither Timms nor 
“ saucy Williams,” however, reasoned in this fashion. 
They were, in a high degree, practical men, and saw 
things as they are ; not as they ought to be. Little was 


228 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


either troubled with theories, regrets, or principles. It 
was enough for each that he was familiar with the work- 
ings of the system under which he lived ; and which he 
knew how to pervert in a way the most likely to effect his 
own purposes. 

The reader may be surprised at the active pertinacity 
with which Williams pursued one on trial for her life ; a 
class of persons with whom the bar usually professes to 
deal tenderly and in mercy. But the fact was that he had 
been specially retained by the next of kin, who had large 
expectations from the abstracted hoards of his aunt ; and 
that the fashion of the day had enabled him to achieve 
such a cent per cent bargain with his client, as caused his 
own compensation altogether to depend on the measure 
of his success. Should Mary Monson be sentenced to the 
gallows it was highly probable her revelations would put 
the wronged in the way of being righted, when this limb 
of the law would, in all probability, come in for a full 
share of the recovered gold. How different all this was 
from the motives and conduct of Dunscomb, the reader 
will readily perceive ; for, while the profession in this 
country abounds with Williamses and Timmses, men of 
the highest tone of feeling, the fairest practice, and the 
clearest perceptions of what is right, are by no means 
strangers to the bar. 


.rrf : aio . 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Thou hast already racked me with thy stay ; 

Therefore require me not to ask thee twice : 

Reply at once to all. What is concluded ? 

— Mourning Bride. 

During the interval between the occurrence of the scene, 
in court that has just been related, and the appearance of 
Dunscomb at Biberry, the community was rapidly taking 
sides on the subject of the guilt or innocence of Mary 
Monson. The windows of the jail were crowded all day ; 
throngs collecting there to catch glimpses of the extraor- 
dinary female, who was rightly enough reported to be liv- 
ing in a species of luxury in so unusual a place, and who 
was known to play on an instrument that the popular 
mind was a good deal disposed to regard as sacred. As a 
matter of course, a hundred stories were in circulation, 


THE . WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


229 


touching the character, history, sayings, ’and doings of 
this remarkable person, that had no" -foundation whatever 
in truth ; for it is an infirmity of human nature to circu- 
late and place its belief in falsehoods of this sort ; and 
more especially of human nature as it is exhibited in a 
country where care has been taken to stimulate the curi- 
osity of the vulgar, without exactly placing them in a 
condition to appease its longings, either intelligently or 
in a very good taste. 

This interest would have been manifested, in such a 
case, had there been no particular moving cause ; but the 
secret practices of Williams and Timms greatly increased 
its intensity, and was bringing the population of Dukes to 
a state of excitement that was very little favorable to an 
impartial administration of justice. Discussions had taken 
place at every corner, and in all the bar-rooms ; and many 
were the alleged facts connected with the murders, which 
had their sole existence in rumor, that was adduced in 
the heat of argument, or to make out a suppositious case. 
All this time, Williams was either in court, attending 
closely to his different causes, or was seen passing be- 
tween the court-house and the tavern, with bundles of 
papers under his arms, like a man absorbed in business. 
Timms played a very similar part, though he found leisure 
to hold divers conferences with several of his confidential 
agents. Testimony was his aim ; and, half a dozen times, 
when he fancied himself on the point of establishing 
something new and important, the whole of the ingenious 
fabric he had reared came tumbling about his ears, in 
consequence of some radical defect in the foundation. 

Such was the state of things on the evening of Wednes- 
day, the day preceding that which had been set down for 
the trial, when the stage arrived bringing “ Squire Duns- 
comb,” his carpet-bags, his trunk, and his books. McBrain 
shortly after drove up in his own carriage, and Anna was 
soon in her mother’s arms. The excitement, so general in 
the place, had naturally enough extended to these females ; 
and Mrs. McBrain and her daughter were soon closeted, 
talking over the affair of Mary Mbnson. 

About eight that evening, Dunscomb and Timms were 
busy looking over minutes of testimony, briefs, and other 
written documents that were connected with the approach- 
ing trial. Mrs. Horton had reserved the best room in her 
house for this distinguished counsel; an apartment in a 
wing that was a good deal removed from the noise and 


230 


THE WAYS OF THE HOLE. 


bustle of a leading inn, during a circuit. Here Dunscomb 
had been duly installed, and here he early set up “ his traps,” 
as he termed his flesh-brushes, sponges, briefs, and calfskin- 
covered volumes. Two tallow candles threw a dim, lawyer- 
like light on the scene ; while unrolled paper-curtains shut 
out as much of night as such an imperfect screen could 
exclude. The odor of cigars — excellent Havanas, by the 
way — was fragrant in the place ; and one of the little foun- 
tains of smoke* was stuck knowingly in a corner of the 
eminent counsel’s mouth, while Timms had garnished his 
skinny lips with the short stump of a pipe. Neither said 
anything ; one of the parties presenting documents that 
the other read in silence. Such was the state of matters, 
when a slight tap at the door was succeeded by the unex- 
pected appearance of “saucy Williams.” Timms started, 
gathered together all his papers with the utmost care, and 
awaited the explanation of this unlooked-for visit with the 
most lively curiosity. Dunscomb, on the other hand, re- 
ceived his guest with urbanity, and like one who felt that 
the wranglingof the bar, in which, by the way, he had too 
much self-respect and good temper to indulge, had no nec- 
essary connection with the courtesies of private life. 

Williams had scarcely a claim superior to those of 
Timms, to be considered a gentleman ; though he had the 
advantage of having been what is termed liberally edu- 
cated — a phrase of very doubtful import, when put to the 
test of old-fashioned notions on such subjects. In man- 
ners, he had the defects, and we may add the merits, u of 
the school in which he had been educated. All that 
had been said of Timms on this subject, in the way of 
censure, was equally applicable to Williams; but the last 
possessed self-command, an admirable reliance on his own 
qualities, which would have flttted him, as regards this 
one quality, to be an emperor. Foreigners wonder at the 
self-possession of Americans in the presence of the great ; 
and it is really one of the merits of the institution that it 
causes every person to feel that he is a man, and entitled 
to receive the treatment due to a being so high in the 
scale of earthly creations. It is true, that this feeling of- 
ten degenerates into a vulgar and oversensitive jealousy, 
frequently rendering its possessor exacting and ridiculous ; 
but on the whole, the effect is manly, not to say ennobling. 

Now Williams was self-possessed by nature, as well as 
by association and education. Though keenly alive to the 
differences and chances of fortune, he never succumbed to 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


231 


mere rank and wealth. Intriguing by disposition, not to 
say by education, he could affect a deference he did not 
feel ; but, apart from the positive consequences of power, 
he was not to be daunted by the presence of the most 
magnificent sovereign who ever reigned. No wonder, 
then, that he felt quite at home in the company of his 
present host, though fully aware that he was one of the 
leading members of the New York bar. As a proof of this 
independence may be cited the fact that he had no sooner 
paid his salutations and been invited to be seated, than he 
deliberately selected a cigar from the open box of Duns- 
comb, lighted it, took a chair, raised one leg coolly on the 
corner of a table, and began to smoke. 

“The calendar is a little crowded,” observed this free- 
and-easy visitor, “ and is likely to carry us over into the 
middle of next week. Are you retained in Daniels against 
Fireman’s Insurance?” 

“ I am not — a brief was offered by the plaintiff, but I 
declined taking it.” 

“A little conscientious, I suppose. Well, I leave all the 
sin of my suits on the shoulders of my clients. It is bad 
enough to listen to their griefs, without being called on to 
s?nart for them. I have heard you are in Cogswell against 
Davidson ? ” 

“ In that cause I have been retained. I may as well say, 
at once, we intend to move it on.” 

“ It’$ of no great moment — if you beat us at the circuit, 
our turn will come on execution.” 

“ I believe, Mr. Williams, your clients have a knack at 
gaining the day in that mode. It is of no great interest 
to me, however, as I rarely take the management of a 
cause after it quits the courts.” 

“ How do you like the Code, Brother Dunscomb?” 

“ Damnable, sir. I am too old, in the first place, to like 
change. Then change from bad to worse is adding folly 
to imbecility. The Common Law practice had its faults, 
I allow ; but this new system has no merits.” 

“I do not go as far as that ; and I rather begin to like 
the new plan of remuneration. We are nothing out of 
pocket, and sometimes are a handsome sum in. You de- 
fend Mary Monson ?” 

Timms felt assured that his old antagonist had now 
reached the case that had really brought him to. the room. 
He fidgeted, looked eagerly round to see that no stray 
paper could fall beneath the hawk-like eye of the other 


232 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


party, and then sat in comparative composure, waiting the 
result. 

“I do,” Dunscomb quietly replied; “and I shall do it 
con amore — I suppose you know what that means, Mr. 
Williams?” 

A sarcastic smile passed over the steeled countenance 
of the other, his appearance being literally sardonic for an 
instant. 

“ I presume I do. We know enough Latin in Dukes to 
get along with such a quotation ; though our friend Timms 
here despises the classics. ‘ Con amore ’ means in this in- 
stance, ‘a lover’s zeal,’ I suppose ; for they tell me that all 
who approach the criminal submit to her power to charm.” 

“The accused, if you please,” put in the opposing at- 
torney ; “ but no criminal , until the word 1 guilty ’ has been 
pronounced.” 

“I am convicted. They say you are to be the happy 
man, Timms, in the event' of an acquittal. It is reported 
all over the county, that you are to become Mr. Monson as 
a reward for your services ; and if half that I hear be true, 
you will deserve her, with a good estate in the bargain.” 

Here Williams laughed heartily at his own wit ; but 
Dunscomb looked grave, while his associate counsel looked 
angry. In point of fact the nail had been hit on the head ; 
and consciousness lighted the spirit within, with its calm, 
mild glow. The senior counsel was too proud and too 
dignified to make any reply ; but Timms was troubled with 
no sugli feeling. . j of/n 

“ If there are any such rumors in old Dukes/’ retorted 
the last, “ it will not need mesmerism to discover their 
author. In my opinion, the people ought to carry on 
their suits in a spirit of liberality and justice ; and not in 
a vindictive, malicious temper.” 

“We are all of the same way of thinking,” answered 
Williams, with a sneer. “I consider it liberal to give you 
a handsome young woman with a full purse.; though no 
one can say how, or by whom, it has been filled. By the 
way, Mr. Dunscomb, I am instructed to make a proposal 
to you ; and as Timms is in the court, this may be as good 
a moment as another to present it for consideration. My 
offer is from the nephew, next of kin, and sole heir of the 
late Peter Goodwin ; by whom, as you probably know, I 
am retained. This gentleman is well assured that his de- 
ceased relatives had a large sum in gold by them, at the 
time of the murders ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


2 33 


“No verdict has yet shown that there have been any 
murders at all,” interrupted Timms. 

“We have the verdict. of the inquest, begging your par- 
don, brother Timms — that is something, surely; though 
not enough, quite likely, to convince your mind. But, to 
proceed with my proposition : — My client is well assured 
that such a secret fund existed. He also knows that your 
client, gentlemen, is flush of money, and money in gold 
coins that correspond with many pieces that have been 
seen by different individuals in the possession of our 
aunt ” 

“Ay, eagles and half-eagles,” interrupted Timms — “a 
resemblance that comes from the stamp of the mint.” 

“ Go on with your proposition, Mr. Williams,” — said 
Dunscomb. 

“We offer to withdraw all our extra counsel, myself in- 
cluded, and to leave the case altogether with the State, 
which is very much the same thing as an acquittal ; provided 
you will return to us five thousand dollars in this gold coin. 
Not pay , for that might be compounding a felony ; but 
return .” 

“There could be no compounding a felony, if the indict- 
- ment be not quashed, but traversed,” said the senior coun- 
sel for the defence. 

“Very true; but we prefer the word ‘return.’ That 
leaves everything clear, and will enable us to face the 
county. Our object is to get our rights — let the State 
take care of its justice for itself.” 

“You can hardly expect that such a proposition should 
be accepted, Williams?” 

“I am not so sure of that, Timms; life is sweeter than 
money even. I should like to hear the answer of your as- 
sociate, however. You, I can see, have no intention of 
lessening the marriage portion, if it can be helped.” 

Such side-hits were so common in court, as between 
these worthies, that neither thought much of fhepa out of 
court. But Williams gave a signal proof of the acuteness 
of his observation, when he expressed a wish to know in 
w T hat light his proposal was viewed by Dunscomb. That 
learned gentleman evidently paid more respect to the offer 
than had been manifested by his associate ;. and now sat 
silently ruminating on its nature. Thus directly appealed 
to, he felt the necessity of giving some sort of an answer. 

“You have come expressly to make this proposition to 
us, Mr. Williams ?” Dunscomb demanded. 1 "’ 1 


2^4 


THE WAYS OF TIIE HOUR . 


“To be frank with you, sir, sujch is the main object of 
my visit.” 

“ Of course it is sanctioned by your client, and you speak 
by authority ?” 

“ It is fully sanctioned by my client, who would greatly 
prefer the plan ; and I act directly by his written instruc- 
tions. Nothing short of these would induce me to make 
the proposition.” 

“ Very well, sir. Will an answer by ten o’clock this 
evening meet your views ?” 

“ Perfectly so. An answer at any time between this 
and the sitting of the court to-morrow morning will fully 
meet our views. The terms, however, cannot be dimin- 
ished. Owing to the shortness of the time, it may be well 
to understand that.” 

“ Then, Mr. Williams, I ask a little time for reflection 
and consultation. We may meet again to-night.” 

The other assented, rose, coolly helped himself to an- 
other cigar, and had got as far as the door, when an ex- 
pressive gesture from Timms induced him to pause. 

“Let us understand each other,” said- the last, with 
emphasis. “Is this a truce, with a complete cessation of 
hostilities ; or is it only a negotiation to be carried on in 
the midst of war?” 

“I hardly comprehend your meaning, Mr. Timms. The 
question is simply one of taking certain forces — allied 
forces, they may be called — from the field, and leaving 
you to contend only with the main enemy. Theremeed 
be nothing said of a truce, since nothing further can be 
done until the court opens.” 

“ That may do very well, Williams, for those that haven’t i 
practised in Dukes as long as myself ; but it will not do 
for me. There is an army of reporters here, at this mo- 
ment ; and I am afraid that the allies of whom you speak 
have whole corps of skirmishers.” 

Williams maintained a countenance so unmoved that 
even the judicious Timms was a little shaken ; while Duns- 
comb, who had all the reluctance of a gentleman to be- 
lieve in an act of meanness, felt outraged by his associate’s 
suspicions. 

“Come, come, Mr. Timms,” the last exclaimed, “I beg 
we may have no more of this. Mr. Williams has come 
with a proposition worthy of our consideration ; let us 
meet it in the spirit in which it is offered.” 

(( Yes,” repeated Williams, with a look that might well 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


2 35 


have explained his sobriquet of “saucy;” “yes, in the 
spirit in which it is offered. What do you say to that, 
Timms?” 

“That I shall manage the defence precisely as if no such 
proposition had been made, or any negotiation accepted. 
You can do the same for the prosecution.” 

“Agreed!” Williams rejoined, making a sweeping gest- 
ure with his hand, and immediately quitting the room. 

Dunscomb was silent for a minute. A thread of smoke 
arose from the end of his cigar ; but the volume no longer 
poured from between his lips. He was ruminating too in- 
tensely even to smoke. Rising suddenly, he took his hat, 
and motioned toward the door. 

“ Timms, we must go to the jail,” he said ; “ Mary Mon- 
son must be spoken to at once.” 

“ If Williams had made his proposition ten days ago, 
there might be some use in listening to it,” returned the 
junior, following the senior counsel from the room, carry- 
ing all the papers in the cause. under an arm ; “but, now 
that all the mischief is done, it would be throwing away 
five thousand dollars to listen to his proposition.” 

“We will see — we will see,” answered the other, hurry- 
ing down-stairs — “ what means the rumpus in that room, 
Timms ? Mrs. Horton has not treated me well, to place a 
troublesome neighbor so near me. I shall stop and tell 
her as much, as we go through the hall.” 

“You had better not, squire. We want all our friends 
just now ; and a sharp word might cause us to lose this 
woman, who has a devil of a tongue. She tells me that a 
crazy man was brought here privately ; and, being well 
paid for it, she has consented to give him what she calls 
her * drunkard’s parlor,’ until the court has settled his af- 
fairs. His room, like your own, is so much out of the way, 
that the poor fellow gives very little trouble to the great 
body of the boarders.” 

“Ay, very little trouble to you, and the rest of you, in 
the main building ; but a great deal to me. I shall speak 
to Mrs. Horton on the subject, as we pass out.” 

“.Better not, squire. The woman is our friend now, I 
know ; but a warm word may turn her to the right-about.” 

It is probable Dunscomb was influenced by his compan- 
ion ; for he left the house without putting his threat into 
execution. In a few minutes he and Timms were at the 
jail. As counsel could not well be refused admission to 
their client on the eve of trial, the two lawyers were ad- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


236 

mitted to the gallery within the outer door that has been 
so often mentioned. Of course, Mary Monson was notified 
of the visit ; and she received them with Anna Updyke, 
the good, gentle, considerate Anna, who was ever disposed 
to help the weak and to console the unhappy, at her side. 
Dunscomb had no notion that the intimacy had grown to 
this head ; but when he came to reflect that one of the 
parties was to be tried for her life next day, he was dis- 
posed to overlook the manifest indiscretion of his old 
favorite in being in such a place. Mrs. McBrain’s presence 
released him from all responsibility ; and he returned the 
warm pressure of Anna’s hand in kindness, if not with pos- 
itive approbation. As for the girl herself, the very sight 
of “ Uncle Tom,” as she had so long been accustomed to 
call the counsellor, cheered her heart, and raised new hopes 
in behalf of her friend. 

In a few clear, pointed words, Dunscomb let the motive 
of his visit be krjown. There was little time to throw away, 
and he went directly at his. object, stating everything suc- 
cinctly, but in the most intelligible manner. Nothing could 
have been more calm than the manner in which Mary 
Monson listened to his statement ; her deportment being 
as steady as that of one sitting in judgment herself, rather 
than that of a person whose own fate was involved in the 
issue. 

“ It is a large sum to raise in so short a time,” continued 
the kind-hearted Dunscomb ; “ but I deem the proposition 
so important to your interest, that, rather than lose this 
advantage, I would not hesitate about advancing the money 
myself, should you be unprepared for so heavy a demand.” 

“As respects the money, Mr. Dunscomb,” returned the 
fair prisoner, in the most easy and natural manner, “ that 
need give us no concern. By sending a confidential mes- 
senger to town — Mr. John Wilmeter, for instance” — here 
Anna pressed less closely to her friend’s side — “it would 
be very easy to have five hundred eagles or a thousand 
half eagles here, by breakfast-time to-morrow. It is not 
on account of any such difficulty that I hesitate a moment. 
What I dislike is the injustice of the thing. I have never 
touched a cent of poor Mrs. Goodwin’s hoard ; and it would 
be false to admit that I am returning that which I never 
received.” 

“We must not be particular, ma’am, on immaterial 
points, when there is so much at stake.” 

“It may be immaterial whether I pay money under one 


THE WAYS O'F THE HOUR. 


2 37 


form or another, Mr. Dunscomb ; but it cannot be immate- 
rial to my future standing, whether I am acquitted in the 
teeth of this Mr. Williams’s opposition, or under favor of 
his purchase.” 

“Acquitted! Our case is not absolutely clear, Miss 
Monson — it is my duty to tell you as much ! ” 

“ I understand such to be the opinion of both Mr. Timms 
and yourself, sir ; I like the candor of your conduct, but 
am not converted to your way of thinking. I shall be 
acquitted, gentlemen — yes, honorably, triumphantly ac- 
quitted ; and I cannot consent to lessen the impression of 
such a termination to my affair, by putting myself in the 
way of being even suspected of a collusion with a man like 
this saucy Williams. It is far better to meet him openly, 
and to defy him to do his worst. Perhaps some such trial, 
followed by complete success, will be necessary to my 
future happiness.” 

Anna now pressed nearer to the side of her friend ; pass- 
ing an arm, unconsciously to herself, around her waist. 
As for Dunscomb, he gazed at the handsome prisoner in a 
sort of stupefied wonder. The place, the hour, the busi- 
ness of the succeeding day, and all the accessories of the 
scene, had an effect to increase the confusion of his mind, 
a,nd, for the moment, to call in question the fidelity of his 
senses. As he gazed at the prison-like aspect of the gal- 
lery, his eye fell on the countenance of Marie Moulin, and 
rested there in surprise for half a minute. The Swiss maid 
was looking earnestly at her mistress, with an expression 
of concern and of care so intense, that it caused the coun- 
sellor to search for their cause. For the first time it flashed 
on his mind that Mary Monson might be a lunatic, and 
that the defence so often set up in capital cases as to weary 
the common mind, might be rendered justly available in 
this particular instance. The whole conduct of this serv- 
ing-woman had been so singular ; the deportment of Mary 
Monson herself was so much out of the ordinary rules ; 
and the adhesion of Anna Updyke, a girl of singular pru- 
dence of conduct, notwithstanding her disposition to 
enthusiasm, so marked, that the inference was far from un- 
natural. Nevertheless, Mary Monson had never looked 
more calm, more intellectual ; never manifested more of a 
mien of high intelligence, than at that very instant The 
singular illumination of the countenance to which we have 
had occasion already to allude, was conspicuous, but it was 
benignant and quiet ; and the flush of the cheeks added 


238 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR. 


lustre to her eyes. Then the sentiments expressed were 
just and noble, free from the cunning and mendacity of a 
maniac ; and such as any man might be proud to have the 
wife of his bosom entertain. All these considerations 
quickly chased the rising distrust from Dunscomb’s mind, 
and his thoughts reverted to the business that had brought 
him there. 

“You are the best judge, ma’am, of what will most con- 
tribute to your happiness,” rejoined the counsellor, after a 
brief pause. “ In the ignorance in which we are kept of 
the past, I might well add, the only judge ; though it is 
possible that your female companions know more, in this 
respect, than your legal advisers. It is proper I should 
say, once more, and probably for the last time, that your 
case will be greatly prejudiced unless you enable us to 
dwell on your past life freely and truly.” 

“ I am accused of murdering an unoffending female and 
her husband ; of setting fire to the dwelling, and of rob- 
bing them of their gold. These are accusations that can 
properly be answered only by a complete acquittal, after 
a solemn investigation. No half-way measures will do. 

I must be found not guilty, or a blot rests on my character 
for life. My position is singular— I had almost said 
cruel — in some respects owing to my own wilfulness ” 

Here Anna Updyke pressed closer to her friend’s side', 
as if she would defend her against these self-accusations ; 
while Marie Moulin dropped her needle, and listened with 
the liveliest curiosity. 

“In many respects, perhaps,” continued Mary, after a # 
short pause, “and I must take the consequences. Wilful- 
ness has ever been my greatest enemy. It has been fed 
by perfect independence and too much money. I doubt 
if it be good for woman to be thus tried. We were created 
for dependence, Mr. Dunscomb ; dependence on our 
fathers, on our brothers, and perhaps on our husbands — — ” 
here there was another pause ; and the cheeks of the fair 
speaker flushed, while her eyes became brilliant to light. 

“ Perhaps !” repeated the counsellor, with solemn 
emphasis. 

“ I know that men think differently from us on this 
subject ” 

“ From us — do you desire me to believe that most women 
wish to be independent of their husbands ! Ask the young 
woman at your side, if that be her feeling of the duties of 
her sex.” 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


2 39 


Anna dropped her head on her bosom, and blushed 
scarlet. In all her day-dreams of happiness with John 
Wilmeter, the very reverse of the feeling now alluded to, 
had been uppermost in her mind ; and to her nothing had 
ever seemed half as sweet as the picture of leaning on him 
for support, guidance, authority, and advice. The thought 
of independence would have been painful to her ; for a 
principle of nature, the instinct of her sex, taught her that 
the part of woman was “to love, honor, and obey.” As 
for Mary Monson, she quailed a little before the severe 
eye of Dunscomb ; but education, the accidents of life, and 
possibly a secret principle of her peculiar temperament, 
united to stimulate her to maintain her original ground. 

* “ I know not what may be the particular notions of Miss 
Updyke,” returned this singular being, “but I can feel 
my own longings. They are all for independence. Men 
Have not dealt fairly by women. Possessing the power, 
they have made all the laws, fashioned all the opinions of 
the world, in their own favor. Let a woman err, and she 
can never rise from her fall ; while men live with im- 
punity in the midst of their guilt. If a woman think 
differently from those around her, she is expected to con- 
ceal her opinions, in order to receive those of her masters. 
Even in the worship of God, the highest and most pre- 
cious of all our duties, she is expected to play a secondary 
part, and act as if the Christian faith favored the sentiment 
of another, which teaches that women have no souls.” 

“All this is as old as the repinings of a very treacherous 
nature, young lady,” answered Dunscomb, coolly ; “and I 
have often heard it before. It is not surprising, however, 
that a young, handsome, highly-educated, and I presume 
rich, person of your sex, should be seduced by notions 
seemingly so attractive, and long for what she will be apt 
to term the emancipation of her sex. This is an age of 
emancipation ; prudent gray-headed men become deluded, 
and exhibit their folly by succumbing to a wild and ex- 
ceedingly silly philanthropical hurrah ! Even religion is 
emancipated ! There are churches, it is true ; but they 
exist as appendages of society, instead of being divine in- 
stitutions, established for the secret purposes of unerring 
wisdom ; and we hear men openly commending this or 
that ecclesiastical organization, because it has more or less 
of the savor of republicanism. But one new dogma re- 
mains to be advanced — that the government of the uni- 
verse is democratical — in which the ‘music of the spheres’ 


240 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


is a popular song ; and the disappearance of a world a 
matter to be referred to the people in their primary 
capacity. Among other absurdities of the hour is a new 
law, giving to married women the control of their property, 
and drawing a line of covetousness across the bolster of 
every marriage bed in the State ! ” 

“Surely, Mr. Dunscomb, a man of your integrity, char- 
acter, manliness and principles, would defend the weaker 
sex in the maintenance of its rights against prodigality, 
tyranny, and neglect ? ” 

“ These are so many words, my dear ma’am, and are 
totally without meaning, when thoroughly sifted. God 
created woman to be a helpmeet to man — to comfort, 
solace, and aid him in his pursuit after wordly happiness ; 
but always in a dependent relation. The marriage con- 
dition, viewed in its every-day aspect, has sufficient causes 
of disagreement, without drawing in this of property. One 
of the dearest and nearest of its ties, indeed, that of a per- 
fect identification of interests, is at once cut off by this 
foolish, not to say wicked, attempt to light the torch of 
contention in every household. It were better to teach 
our women not to throw themselves away on men who can 
not be trusted ; to inculcate the necessity of not marrying 
in haste to repent at leisure, than to tinker the old, vener- 
able and long-tried usages of our fathers, by crochets that 
come far more from the feverish audacity of ignorance, 
than from philosophy or wisdom. Why, unless the courts 
interpose their prudence to rectify the blunders of the 
legislature, as they have already done a hundred times, 
the laborer’s wife may have her action against her husband 
for the earthen bowl he has broken ; and the man may be 
sued by the wife for rent ! The happiness of every home 
is hourly put in jeopardy, in order that, now and then, a 
wife may be saved from the courses of a speculator or a 
spendthrift.” 

“Might not this have been done before, Uncle Tom, by 
means of settlements?” asked Anna, with interest. 

“Certainly; and that it is which renders all this silly 
quackery so much the worse. In those cases in which the 
magnitude of the stake might seem to demand extraor- 
dinary care, the means already existed for providing all 
useful safeguards ; and any new legislation was quite un- 
necessary. This very law will produce twenty-fold more 
unhappiness in families, than it will prevent of misery, by 
setting up distinct, and often conflicting interests, among 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


241 


those who ought to live as ‘ bone "of their bone, and flesh 
of their flesh.’ ” 

“ You do not give to woman her proper place in society, 
Mr. Dunscomb,” returned Mary Monson, haughtily; 
“ your comments are those of a bachelor. I have heard of 
a certain Miss Millington, who once had an interest with 
you, and who, if living, would have taught you juster sen- 
timents on this subject.” 

Dunscomb turned as white as a sheet ; his hand and lip 
quivered ; and all desire to continue the discourse sud- 
denly left him. The gentle Anna, ever attentive to his 
wishes and ailings, stole to his side, silently offering a 
glass of water. She had seen this agitation before, and 
knew there was a leaf in “ Uncle Tom’s” history that he 
did not wish every vulgar eye to read. 

As for Mary Monson, she went into her cell, like one 
who declined any further communication with her counsel. 
Timms was struck with her lofty and decided manner ; 
but stood too much in awe of her, to interpose a remon- 
strance. After a few minutes taken by Dunscomb to re- 
gain his self-command, and a brief consultation together, 
the two lawyers quitted the prison. All this time, the ac- 
cused remained in her cell, in resentful silence, closely and 
anxiously watched by the searching eye of her senior at- 
tendant. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Methinks, if, as I guess, the fault’s but small, 

It might be pardoned. — The Orphan. 

Perhaps no surer test of high principles, as it is certain 
no more accurate test of high breeding can be found, than 
a distaste for injurious gossip. In woman, subject as she 
is unquestionably by her education, habits, and active cu- 
riosity, to the influence of this vice, its existence is deplor- 
able. leading to a thousand wrongs, among the chief of 
which is a false appreciation of ourselves ; but, when men 
submit to so vile a propensity, they become contemptible, 
as well as wicked. As a result of long observation, we 
should say that those who are most obnoxious to the just 
condemnation of the world, are the most addicted to find- 
ing faults in others ; and it is only the comparatively good, 
who are so because they are humble, that abstain from 
meddling and dealing in scandal. 

16 


242 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


When one reflects on the great amount of injustice that 
is thus inflicted, without even the most remote hope of 
reparation, how far a loose, ill-considered and ignorant re- 
mark will float on the tongues of the idle, how much 
unmerited misery is oftentimes entailed by such unweighed 
assertions and opinions, and how small is the return of 
benefit in any. form whatever, it would almost appear a 
necessary moral consequence that the world, by general 
consent, would determine to eradicate so pernicious an 
evil, in the common interest of mankind. That it does 
not, is probably owing to the power that is still left in the 
hands of the Father of Sin, by the Infinite Wisdom that 
has seen fit to place us in this condition of trial. The 
parent of all lies, gossip, is one of the most familiar of the 
means he employs to put his falsehoods in circulation. 

This vice is heartless and dangerous when confined to 
its natural limits, the circles of society ; but, when it in- 
vades the outer walks of life, and, most of all, when it gets 
mixed up with the administration of justice, it becomes a 
tyrant as ruthless and injurious in its way, as he who fid- 
dled while Rome w T as in flames. We have no desire to ex- 
aggerate the evils of the state of society in which we live ; 
but an honest regard to truth will, we think, induce every 
observant man to lament the manner in which this power, 
under the guise of popular opinion, penetrates into all the 
avenues of the courts, corrupting, perverting, and often 
destroying the healthful action of their systems. 

Biberry furnished a clear example of the truth of thes$ 
remarks on the morning of the day on which Mary Mon- 
son was to be tried. 

The jail-window had its crowd, of course ; and though 
the disposition of curtains, and other similar means of con- 
cealment completely baffled vulgar curiosity, they could 
not cloak the resentful feelings to which this reserve gave 
birth. Most of those who were drawn thither belonged to 
a class who fancied it was not affliction enough to be ac- 
cused of two of the highest crimes known to the laws ; but 
that to this grievous misfortune should be added a sub- 
mission to the stare of the multitude. It was the people’s 
laws the accused was supposed to have disregarded ; and 
it was their privilege to anticipate punishment, by insult. 

“Why don’t she show herself, and let the public look on 
her?” demanded one curious old man, whose head had 
whitened under a steadily increasing misconception of 
what the rights of this public were. “I’ve seen murderers 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR . 


243 


afore now, and ain’t a bit afeard on ’em, if they be well 
ironed and look’d a’ter.” 

This sally produced a heartless laugh ; for, sooth to say, 
where one feels, under such circumstances, as reason, and 
justice, and revelation would tell them to feel, ten feel as 
the demons prompt. 

“You cannot expect that a lady of fashion, who plays 
on the harp and talks French, will show her pretty face to 
be gazed at by common folk,” rejoined a shabby genteel 
sort of personage, out of whose waistcoat-pocket obtruded 
the leaves of a small note-book, and the end of a gold pen. 
This man was a reporter, rendered malignant by meeting 
with opposition to his views of imagining that the universe 
was created to furnish paragraphs for newspapers. He 
was a half-educated European, who pronounced all his 
words in a sort of boarding-school dialect, as if abbrevia- 
tion offended a taste “ sickened by over learning.” 

Another laugh succeeded this supercilious sneer ; and 
three or four lads, half-grown and clamorous, called aloud 
the name of “ Mary Monson,” demanding that she should 
show herself. At that moment the accused was on her 
knees, with Anna Updyke at her side, praying for that 
support which, as the crisis arrived, she found to be more 
and more necessary. 

Changing from this scene to the open street, we find 
a pettifogger, one secretly prompted by Williams, spread- 
ing a report that had its origin no one knew where, but 
which Was gradually finding its way to the ears of half 
the population of Dukes, exciting- prejudice and inflicting 
wrong. 

“ It’s the curi’stest story I ever heard,” said Sam Tongue, 
as the pettifogger was usually styled, though his real name 
was Hubbs ; “ and one so hard to believe, that, though I tell 
it, I call on no man to believe it. You see, gentlemen” — : 
the little group around him was composed of suitors, wit- 
nesses, jurors, grand-jurors, and others of a stamp that 
usually mark these several classes of men — “ that the ac- 
count now is, that this Mary Monson was sent abroad for 
her schoolin’ when only ten years old ; and that she stayed 
in the old countries long enough to l’arn to play the harp, 
and other deviltries of the same natur’. It’s a misfortin’, 
as I say, for any young woman to be sent out of Ameriky 
for an edication. Edication, as everybody knows, is the 
great glory of our country ; and a body would think that 
what can’t be l’arnt here , isn’t worth knowin’,” 


244 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


This sentiment was well received, as would be any 
opinion that asserted American superiority, with that par- 
ticular class of listeners. Eye turned to eye, nod answered 
nod, and a murmur expressive of approbation passed 
through the little crowed. 

“ But there was no great harm in that,” put in a person 
named Hicks, who was accustomed to connect conse- 
quences with their causes, and to trace causes down to 
their consequences. “ Anybody might have been edicated 
in France as well as Mary Monson. That will hardly tell 
ag’in her on the trial.” 

“ I didn’t say it wmuld,” answered Sam Tongue ; “though 
it’s gin’rally conceded that France is no country for relig- 
ion or true freedom. Give me religion and freedom, say 
I ; a body can get along with bad crops, or disappointments 
in gin’ral, so long as he has plenty of religion and plenty 
of freedom.” 

Another murmur, another movement in the group, and 
other nods denoted the spirit in which this was received, too. 

“ All this don’t make ag’in Mary Monson ; ’specially as 
you say slie was sent abroad so young. It wasn’t her 
fault if her parents ” 

“ She had no parents — there’s the great mystery of her 
case. Never had, so far as can be discovered. A gal 
without parents, without fri’nds of any sort, is edicated in 
a foreign land, l’arns to speak foreign tongues, plays on 
foreign music, and comes home a’ter she’s grown up, with 
her pockets as full as if she’d been to Californy and met a 
vein ; and no one can tell where it all come from ! ” 

“ Well, that won’t tell ag’in her, ne’ther,” rejoined Hicks, 
who had now defended the accused so much that he began 
to take an interest in her acquittal. “Evidence must be 
direct, and have a p’int, to tell ag’in man or woman. As 
for Californy, it’s made lawful by treaty, if Congress will 
only let it alone.” 

“ I know that as well as the best lawyer in Dukes ; but 
character can tell ag’in an accused, as is very likely to be 
shown in the Oyer and Terminer of this day. Character 
counts, let me tell you, when the facts get a little confused ; 
and this is just what I was about to say. Mary Monson 
has money ; where does it come from ? ” 

“Those that think her guilty say that it comes from 
poor Mrs. Goodwin’s stockin’,” returned Hicks, with a 
laugh ; “ but, for my part, I’ve see:i % that stockin’, and am 
satisfied it didn’t hold five hu'-drcd dollars, it it did four.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


245 


Here the reporter out with his notes, scribbling away for 
some time. That evening a paragraph, a little altered to 
give it point and interest, appeared in an evening paper, 
in which the conflicting statements of Tongue and Hicks 
were so presented that neither of these worthies could 
have recognized his own child. That paper was in Biberry 
next morning, and had no inconsiderable influence, ulti- 
mately, oti the fortunes of the accused. 

In the bar-room of Mrs. Horton, the discussion was also 
lively and wily on this same subject. As this was a place 
much frequented By the jurors, the agents of Timms and 
Williams were very numerous in and around that house. 
The reader is not to suppose that these men admitted di- 
rectly to themselves even, the true character of the rascally 
business in which they were engaged ; for their employers 
were much too shrewd not to cover, to a certain degree, 
the deformity of their own acts. One set had been told 
that they were favoring justice, bringing down aristocratic 
pride to the level of the rights of the mass, demonstrating 
that this was a free country, by one of the very vilest 
procedures that ever polluted the fountains of justice at 
their very source. On the other hand, the agents of 
Timms had been persuaded that they were working in be- 
half of a persecuted and injured woman, who was pressed 
upon by the well-known avarice of the nephew of the 
Goodwins, and who was in danger of becoming the victim 
of a chain of extraordinary occurrences that had thrown 
"'her into the meshes of the law. It is true, this reasoning 
was backed by liberal gifts ; which, however, were made 
to assume the aspect of compensation fairly earned, for 
the biggest villain going derives a certain degree of satis- 
faction in persuading himself that he is acting under the 
influence of motives to which he is, in truth, a stranger. 
The homage which vice pays to virtue is on a much more 
extended scale than is commonly supposed. 

Williams’s men had much the best of it with the mass. 
They addressed themselves to prejudices as wide as the 
dominion of man ; and a certain personal zeal was mingled 
with their cupidity. Then they had, by far, the easiest 
task. He who merely aids the evil principles of our nat- 
ure, provided he conceal the cloven foot, is much more 
sure of finding willing listeners than he who looks for 
support in the good. A very unusual sort of story was 
circulated in this bar-room at the expense of the accused, 
and which carried- with it more credit than common, in 


246 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


consequence of its being so much out of the beaten track 
of events as to seem to set invention at defiance. 

Mary Monson was said to be an heiress, well con- 
nected, and well educated — or, as these three very 
material circumstances were stated by the Williams 
men — “ well to do herself, of friends well to do, and of 
excellent schooling.” She had been married to a per- 
son of equal position in society, wealth, and character, 
but many years her senior — too many, the story went, 
considering her own time of life ; for a great difference, 
when one of the parties is youthful, is apt to tax the tastes 
too severely — and that connection had not proved happy. 
It had been formed abroad, and more on foreign than on 
American principles ; the bridegroom being a Frenchman. 
It was what is called a mariage de raison, made through 
the agency of friends and executors, rather than through 
the sympathies and feelings that should alone bring man 
and woman together in this, the closest union known to 
human beings. After a year of married life abroad, the 
unmatched couple had come to America, where the wife 
possessed a very ample fortune. ■ This estate the recently 
enacted laws gave solely and absolutely to herself ; and it 
soon became a source of dissension between man and wife. 
The husband, quite naturally, considered himself entitled 
to advise and direct, and, in some measure, to control, 
while the affluent, youthful, and pretty wife was indisposed 
to yield any of the independence she so much prized, but 
which, in sooth, was asserted in the very teeth of one of : 
the most salutary laws of nature. In consequence of this 
very different manner of viewing the marriage relation, a 
coolness ensued, which was shortly followed bv the disap- 
pearance of the wife. This wife was Mary Monson, who 
had secreted herself in the retired dwelling of the Good- 
wins, while the hired agents of her husband were running 
up and down the land in search of the fugitive in places 
of resort. To this account, so strange, and yet in many 
respects so natural, it was added that a vein of occult mad- 
ness existed in the lady’s family ; and it was suggested 
that, as so much of her conduct as was out of the ordinary 
course might be traced to this malady, so was it also pos- 
sible that the terrible incidents of the fire and the deaths 
were to be imputed to the same deep affliction. 

We are far from saying that any rumor expressed in the 
terms we have used, was circulating in Mrs. Horton’s bar- 
room ; but one that contained all their essentials was. „ It 


THE -IV A VS OF THE HOUR. 


247 


is one of the curious effects of the upward tendency of 
truth that almost every effort to conceal it altogether fails ; 
and this at the very time when idle and heartless gossip is 
filling the world with lies. The tongue does a thousand 
times more evil than the sword ; destroys more happiness, 
inflicts more incurable wounds, leaves deeper and more 
indelible scars. Truth is rarely met with unalloyed by 
falsehood. 

“ This or that unmix’d, no mortal e’er shall find ” — 

w T as the- judgment of Pope a century since ; nor has all the 
boasted progress of these later times induced a change. 
It is remarkable that a country which seems honestly de- 
voted to improvement of every sort, that has a feverish 
desire to take the lead in the warfare against all sorts and 
species of falsehood, gives not the slightest heed to the 
necessity of keeping the channels of intelligence piLre, as 
well as open ! Such is the fact ; and it is a melancholy but 
a just admission to acknowledge that with all the means of 
publicity preserved by America, there is no country in 
which it is more difficult to get unadulterated truth im- 
pressed on the common mind. The same wire that trans- 
mits a true account of the price of cotton from Halifax to 
New Orleans, carries a spark that imparts one that is 
false. The two arrive together ; and it is not until each 
has done its work that the real fact is ascertained. 

Notwithstanding these undoubted obstacles to the cir- 
culation of unalloyed truth, that upward tendency to 
which we have alluded occasionally brings out clear and 
strong rays of the divine quality, that illumine the moral 
darkness on which they shine, as the sun touches the 
verge of the thunder-cloud. It is in this way that an oc- 
casional report is heard, coming from no one knows where ; 
originating with no one knows whom ; circulating in a sort 
of under-current beneath the torrents of falsehood, that is 
singularly, if it be not absolutely correct. 

Of this character was the strange rumor, that found its 
way into Biberry on the morning of Mary Monson’s trial, 
touching the history of that mysterious young woman’s 
past life. Wilmeter heard it first, with a pang, of disap- 
pointment, though Anna had nearly regained her pow T er 
in his heart ; and this pang was Immediately succeeded by 
unbounded surprise. He told the tale to Millington ; and 
together they endeavored to trace the report to something 


2 4 8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


like its source. All efforts of this nature were in vain. 
One had heard the story from another ; but no one could 
sav whence it came originally. The young men gave the 
pursuit up as useless, and proceeded together toward the 
room of Timms, where they knew Dunscomb was to be 
found, just at that time. 

“It is remarkable that a story of this nature should be 
in. such general circulation,” said John, “and no one be 
able to tell who brought it to Biberry. Parts of it seem 
extravagant. Do they not strike you so, sir?” 

“There is nothing too extravagant for some women to 
do,” answered Millington, thoughtfully. “Now, on such 
a person as Sarah, or even on Anna Updyke, some calcu- 
lations might be made — certain calculations, I might say ; 
but they are women, Jack, on whom one can no more de- 
pend, than on the constancy of the winds.” 

“ I admire your — ‘ even on Anna Updyke ! * ” 

“ Do you not agree with me ? ” returned the unobservant 
Millington. “ I have always considered Sarah’s friend as 
a particularly reliable and safe sort of person.” 

“ Even on Anna Updyke! — and a particularly reliable 
and safe sort of person ! You have thought this, Mike, 
because she is Sarah’s bosom friend ?” 

“That may have prejudiced me in her favor, I will al- 
low ; for I like most things that Sarah likes.” 

John looked at his friend and future brother-in-law with 
an amused surprise ; the idea of liking Anna Updyke on 
any account but her own, striking him as particularly ab- 
surd. But they were soon at Timms’s door, and the con- 
versation dropped as a matter of course. 

No one who has ever travelled much in the interior of 
America, can easily mistake the character of one of the 
small edifices, with the gable to the street, ornamented 
with what are erroneously termed Venetian blinds, painted 
white, and with an air of tobacco-smoke and the shabby- 
genteel about it, notwithstanding its architectural preten- 
sions. This is a lawyer’s office, thus brought edgeways to 
the street, as if the owner felt the necessity of approaching 
the thoroughfare of the world a little less directly than the 
rest of mankind. It often happens that these buildings, 
small as they usually are, contain two, or even three 
rooms ; and that the occupants, if single men, sleep in 
them as well as transact their business. Such was the case 
with Timms, his “ office,” as the structure was termed, 
containing his bedroom, in addition to an inner and an 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


249 


outer department devoted to the purposes of the law. 
Dunscomb was in the sanctum, while a single clerk and 
three or four clients, countrymen of decent exterior and 
very expecting countenances, occupied the outer room. 
John and Millington went into the presence with little or 
no hesitation. 

Wilmeter was not accustomed to much circumlocution ; 
and he at once communicated the substance of the strange 
rumor that was in circulation, touching their interesting 
client. The uncle listened with intense attention, turning 
pale as the nephew proceeded. Instead of answering or 
making any comment, he sunk upon a chair, leaned his 
hands on a table and his head on his hands, for fully a 
minute. All were struck with these signs of agitation ; 
but no one dared to interfere. At length, this awful pause 
came to a close, and Dunscomb raised his head, the face 
still pale and agitated. His eye immediately sought that 
of Millington. 

“You had heard this story, Michael?” demanded the 
counsellor. 

“ I had, sir. John and I went together to try to trace it 
to some authority.” 

“With what success?” 

“ None whatever. It is in every one’s mouth, but no 
one can say whence it came. Most rumors have a clew, 
but this seems to have none.” 

“ Do you trace the connection which has struck — which 
lifts oppressed me ? ” 

? “ I do, sir, and was so struck the moment I heard the 
rumor ; for the facts are in singular conformity with what 
you communicated to me some months since.” 

“ They are, indeed, and create a strong probability that 
there is more truth in this rumor than is commonly to be 
found in such reports. What has become of Timms ? ” 

“On the ground, squire,” answered that worthy from 
the outer room — “just dispatching my clerk ” — this word 
he pronounced “ clurk ” instead of “ dark,” by way of 
showing he knew how to spell — “with a message to one 
of my men. He will find him and be with 11s in a minute.’ 

In the meantime, Timms had a word to say to each client 
in succession ; getting rid of them all by merely telling 
each man, in his turn, there was not the shadow of doubt 
that he would get the better of his opponent in the trial 
that was so near at hand. It may be said here, as a proof 
how much a legal prophet may be mistaken, Timms was 


250 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


subsequently beaten in each of these three suits, to the 
great disappointment of as many anxious husbandmen, 
each of whom fondly counted on success, from , the oily 
promises he had received. 

In a very few minutes the agent expected by Timms ap- 
peared in the office. He was plain-looking, rather rough 
and honest in appearance, with a most wily, villanous leer 
of the eye. His employer introduced him as Mr. Johnson. 

“Well, Johnson, what news?” commenced Timms. 
“ These are friends to Mary Monson, and you can speak 
out, always avoiding particular partic’lars.” 

Johnson leered, helped himself to a chew of tobacco with 
great deliberation, a trick he had when he needed a mo- 
ment of thought before he made his revelations ; bowed 
respectfully to the great York lawyer ; took a good look 
at each of the young men, as if to measure their means of 
doing good or harm ; and then condescended to reply. 

“Not very good,” was the answer. “That foreign in- 
strument, which they say is just such a one as David used 
when he played before Saul, has done a good deal of harm. 
It won’t do, Squire Timms, to fiddle off an indictment for 
murder ! Mankind gets engaged in such causes ; and if 
they desire music on the trial, it’s the music of law and 
evidence that they want.” 

“ Have you heard any reports concerning Mary Monson’s 
past life ? — if so, can you tell where they come from ? ” 

Johnson knew perfectly well whence a portion of the 
rumors came ; those which told in favor of the accused ; 
but these he easily comprehended were not the reports to 
which Timms alluded. 

“ Biberry is full of all sorts of rumors,” returned John- 
son, cautiously, “ as it commonly is in court-time. Parties 
like to make the most of their causes.” 

“You know my meaning — we have no time to lose ; an- 
swer at once.” 

“ I suppose I do know what you mean, Squire Timms ; 
and I have heard the report. In my judgment, the person 
who set it afloat is no friend of Mary Monson’s.” 

“ You think, then, it will do her damage ?” 

“To the extent of her neck. Eve, before she touched 
the apple, could not have been acquitted in the face of 
such a rumor. I look upon your client as a lost woman, 
Squire Timms.” 

“Does that seem to be the common sentiment — that is, 
so far as you can judge ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


251 


“ Among the jurors it does.” 

“The jurors!” exclaimed Dunscomb — “what can you 
possibly know of the opinions of the jurors, Mr. Johnson ? ” 

A cold smile passed over the man’s face, and he looked 
steadily at Timms, as if to catch a clew that might conduct 
him safely through the difficulties of his case. A frown 
that was plain enough to the agent, though admirably con- 
cealed from all others in the room, told him to be cautious. 

“ I only know what I see and hear. Jurors are men, and 
other men can sometimes get an insight into their feelings, 
without running counter to law. I heard the rumor re- 
lated myself, in the presence of seven of the panel. It’s 
true, nothing was said of the murder, or the arson ; but 
such a history of the previous life of the accused was given 
as Lady Washington couldn’t have stood up ag’in, had she 
been livin’, and on trial for her life.” 

“Was anything said of insanity ?” asked Dunscomb. 

“ Ah, that plea will do no good, nowadays ; it’s worn 
out. They’d hang a murderer from Bedlam. Insanity has 
been overdone, and can’t be depended on any longer.” 

“Was anything said on the subject?” repeated the 
counsellor. 

“ Why, to own the truth, there was ; but, as that told 
for Mary Monson, and not ag’in her, it was not pressed.” 

“You think, then, that the story has been circulated by 
persons in favor of the prosecution ? ” 

“ I know it. One of the other side said to me, not ten 
minptesago — ‘ Johnson,’ said he — ‘ we are old friends ’ — he 
always speaks to me in that familiar way — ‘Johnson,’ said 
he, ‘you’d a done better to have gi’n up. What’s five 
thousand dollars to the likes of her? and them, you know, 
is the figures.’ ” 

“This is a pretty exhibition of the manner of adminis- 
tering justice !” exclaimed the indignant Dunscomb. “ Long 
as I have been at the bar, I had no conception that such 
practices prevailed. At all events, this illegality will give 
a fair occasion to demand a new trial.” 

“ Ay, the sharpest lawyer that ever crossed Harlem 
Bridge can l’arn something in old Dukes,” said Johnson, 
nodding. “ Squire Timms will stand to that. As for new 
trials, I only wonder the lawyers don’t get one each time 
they are beaten ; for the law would bear them out.” 

“ I should like to know how, Master Johnson,” put in 
Timms. “ That would be a secret worth knowing.” 

“ A five-dollar note will buy it.” 


252 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

“ There’s one of ten — now, tell me your secret” 

“Well, squire, you be a gentleman, whatever folks may 
say and think of you. I’d rather do business with you, 
by one-half, than do business with Williams ; notwith- 
standing he has such a name up and down the coun- 
try. Stick to it, and you’ll get the nomination to the 
Sinat’; and the nomination secured, you’re sure of the 
seat. Nomination is the government of Ameriky ; and 
that’s secured by a wonderful few ! ” 

“I believe you are more than half right, Johnson.” 

Here Dunscomb, his nephew, and Millington left the office, 
quite unnoticed by the two worthies, who had entered on 
a subject as engrossing as that of Tim ms’s elevation to the 
Senate. And, by the way, as this book is very likely to be 
introduced to the world, it may be well enough to explain 
that we have two sorts of “Senates” in this country; 
wheels within wheels. There is the Senate of each State, 
without an exception now, we believe ; and there is the 
Senate of the United States ; the last being, in every sense, 
much the most dignified and important body. * It being 
unfortunately true that “nominations” are the real people 
of America, unless in cases which arouse the nation, the 
State Senates very often contain members altogether un- 
suited to their trusts ; men who have obtained their seats 
by party legerdemain ; and who had much better, on their 
own account, as well as on that of the public, be at home 
attending to their own private affairs. This much may be 
freely said by any citizen, of a State Senate, a collection 
of political partisans that commands no particular re&fpecto; 
but it is very different with that of the United States ; and 
we shall confine ourselves to saying, in reference to that 
body, which it is the fashion of the times to reverence as 
the most illustrious political body on earth, that it 'is not 
quite as obnoxious to this judgment as the best of its sis- 
terhood of the several States ; though very far from being 
immaculate, or what, with a little more honesty in political 
leaders, it might be. 

“ I believe you are half right, Johnson,” answered Timms. 
“ Nomination is the government in this country ; liberty, 
people, and all ! Let a man get a nomination on the 
right side, and he’s as good as elected. But now for this 
mode of getting new trials, Johnson ?” 

“Why, squire, I’m amazed a man of your experience 
should ask the question ! The lfiw is sharp enough in 
keeping jurors, and constables, and door-keepers, in their 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


253 


places ; but the jurors, and constables, and door-keepers, 
don’t like to be kept in their places ; and there isn’t one 
cause in ten, if they be of any length, in which the jurors 
don’t stray, or the constables don’t get into the jury rooms. 
You can’t pound free-born American citizens like cattle! ” 

“I understand you, Johnson, and will take the hint. I 
knew there was a screw loose in this part of our jurispru- 
dence, but did not think it as important as I now see it is. 
The fact is, Johnson, we have been telling the people so 
long that they are perfect, and every man that he, in his 
own person, is one of these people, that our citizens don’t 
like to submit to restraints that are disagreeable. Still, we 
are a law-abiding people, as every one says.” 

“ That may be so, squire ; but we are not jury-room- 
abiding, nor be the constables outside-of the-door-abiding, 
take my word for it. As you say, sir, every man is begin- 
ning to think he is a part of the people, and a great part, 
too ; and he soon gets the notion that he can do as he has 
a mind to do.” 

“Where is Mr. Dunscomb?” 

“ He stepped out with the young gentlemen, a few mo- 
ments since. I dare say, Squire Timms, he’s gone to en- 
gage men to talk down this rumor about Mary Monson. 
That job should have been mine, by rights ! ” 

“Not he, Johnson — not he. Your grand lawyers don’t 
meddle with such matters ; or, when they do, they pretend 
not to. No, he has gone to the jail, and I must follow him.” 

At the jail was Dunscomb, sure enough. Mary ITonson, 
Anna and Sarah, with Marie Moulin, ail dressed for the 
court ; the former with beautiful simplicity, but still more 
beautiful care ; the three last plainly, but in attire well 
suited to their respective stations in life. There was a 
common air of concern and anxiety ; though Mary Mon- 
son still maintained her self-command. Indeed, the quiet 
of her manner was truly wonderful, for the circumstances. 

“ Providence has placed me in a most trying situation,” 
she said; “but I see my course. Were I to shrink from 
this trial, evade it in any manner, a blot would rest on my 
name as long as I am remembered. It is indispensable 
that I should be acquitted. This, by God’s blessing on the 
innocent, must come to pass, and I may go forth and face 
my friends with a quiet mind.” 

“ These friends ought to be known,” answered Duns- 
comb, “ and should be here to countenance you with 
their presence.” 


254 


THE WA YS OF THE HO UR. 


“They ! He ! Never — while I live, never ! ” 

“You see this young man, Mary Monson — : I believe he 
is known to you, by name ? ” 

Mary Monson turned her face toward Millington, smiled 
coldly, and seemed undisturbed. 

“ What is he to me ? Here is the woman of his heart — 
let him turn to her , with all his care.” 

“You understand me, Mary Monson— it is important 
that I should be assured of that.” 

“Perhaps I do, Mr. Dunscomb, and perhaps I do not. 
You are enigmatical this morning ; I cannot be certain.” 

“In one short half-hour the bell of yonder court-house 
will ring, when you are to be tried for your life.” 

The cheek of the accused blanched a little ; but its color 
soon returned, while her eye assumed a look even prouder 
than common. 

“Let it come” — was her quiet answer — “ the innocent 
need not tremble. These two pure beings have promised 
to accompany me to the place of trial, and to give me their 
countenance. Why, then, should I hesitate?” 

“I shall go, too” — said Millington steadily, like one 
whose mind was made up. 

“ You ! Well, for the sake of this dear one, you may go, 
too.” 

“ For no other reason, Mary ? ” 

“ For no other reason, sir. I am aware of the interest 
you and Mr. Wilmeter have taken in my case ; and I thank 
you both from the bottom of my heart. Ah ! kindjfie^ss 
was never lost on me ” , 

A flood of tears, for the first time since her imprison- 
ment, so far as anyone knew, burst from this extraordinary 
being ; and, for a few minutes, she became woman in the 
fullest meaning of the term. 

During this interval Dunscomb retired, perceiving that 
it was useless to urge anything on his client while weep- 
ing almost convulsively ; and aware that he had several 
things to do before the court met. Besides, he left the 
place quite satisfied on an all-important point ; and he and 
Millington walked by themselves toward the court-house, 
their heads close together, and their voices reduced nearly 
to whispers. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


2 55 


CHAPTER XX. 

“ I blush, ancl am confounded to appear 
Before thy presence', Cato.” 

“ What’s thy crime?” 

“ I am a Numidian.” — Cato. 

Within the half-hour mentioned by Dunscomb, the court- 
house bell rang, and there was a rush toward that build- 
ing, in order to secure seats for the approaching trial. All 
that has been related in the preceding chapter occurred 
between the hours of six and nine that morning, it being 
one of the “ways of the hour” in the march of improve- 
ment, to drive the administration of justice with as near an 
approach to railroad speed as is practicable. Many of the 
modern judges go to work as early as eight in the morn- 
ing — perhaps most do in the country circuits — and con- 
tinue to call causes until nine and ten at night, illustrating 
the justice of the land by means of agents who are half 
asleep, and stupid from fatigue.. 

We have said that everything like dignity, except as it 
is to be found in the high character of its duties, and the 
manner in which they are performed, has been banished 
from the courts of New York. Even on this solemn occa- 
sion, when a human being was to be put on trial for her 
life, and she a woman, there was no departure from the 
naked 1 simplicity that has been set up 0T1 the pedestal of 
reason, in open opposition to the ancient accessories by 
which the Law asserted its power. It remains to be seen 
whether human nature has not been as much overesti- 
mated under the new arrangement as it was underrated by 
the old. There is a medium, in truth, that it is ever safe 
to respect ; and there is reason to apprehend that in throw- 
ing away the useless vestments of idle parade, those neces- 
sary to decency were cast aside with them. 

Quite a fourth of the audience assembled in Dukes 
County court-house, on this occasion, were females. The 
curiosity, which is said to be so natural to the sex, was, on this 
occasion, quickened by the peculiar circumstances of the 
case, a woman having been murdered, and a woman ac- 
cused of having committed the offence. It was said, how- 
ever, that many were summoned as witnesses, it being gen- 
erally understood that the State had subpoenaed the 
country far and near. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


0156 

At length a general and expecting silence succeeded the 
bustle of the crowds entering and obtaining seats, and the 
eyes of the spectators were very generally turned toward 
the door, in the wish to get a glimpse of the principal per- 
sonage in the approaching scene. We know not why it is 
that the spectacle of others’ woes has so great a charm for 
most persons. Nature has given us sympathy and com- 
passion, and a desire to alleviate misery ; yet most of us 
like to look upon it, as a mere spectacle, when we have 
neither the wish nor the power to be more than useless 
spectators. Thousands will assemble to see a man hanged, 
when all know that the law has a grasp too tight to be un- 
loosed, and that the circle of the gallows is no place for 
feelings of commiseration. But, so it is ; and many a fe- 
male that day, who would have gladly alleviated any dis- 
tress that it was in her power to lessen, sat there, a 
curious and interested observer of all that passed ; to 
note the workings of the countenance, the writhings of 
the inner soul, if any such there should be, or the gleams 
of hope that might, at intervals, lighten the gloom of de- 
spair. 

The court was occupied for half an hour with hearing 
motions, and in granting orders, nothing seeming to im- 
pede its utilitarian progress. . Then the movement within 
the bar ceased, and an expectation, that was even solemn, 
fell on the whole mass of human beings that were collected 
in that narrow space. 

“This is the day for which the trial of Mary Monson 
was, by arrangement, set down,” observed the judge. “ Mr. 
District Attorney, are you ready?” 

“We are, sir- — entirely so, I believe. If the court please, 
Mr. Williams and Mr. Wright will be associated with me 
in this case. It is one of importance, and I do not like the 
responsibility of trying it alone.” 

“The court has so understood it — who is for the ac- 
cused ? ” 

“ I am retained to defend Mary Monson,” answered Duns- 
comb, rising with dignity, and speaking with the self-pos- 
session of one long accustomed to the courts. “ Mr. Timms 
will assist me.” 

“ Are you ready, gentlemen ? ” 

“ I believe we are, your honor ; though the prisoner has 
not yet been arraigned.” 

“ Mr. District Attorney, we will proceed.” 

As the sheriff now left the room in person, rather an 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


257 


unusual thing in bringing a prisoner into court, expecta- 
tion was at its height. In the midst of a breathing silence 
the door swung round — court-room doors are now made to 
swing like turnpikes, in order to* prevent noise — -and Mr. 
Gott entered, followed by Mary Monson, Anna, Sarah, 
Marie Moulin, and the two young men. The kind-hearted 
wife of the sheriff was already in the room, and, by means 
of a constable, had managed to keep seats reserved for 
those who might attend the prisoner. To these seats the 
party now retired, with the exception of Marie Moulin, 
who attended her mistress within the bar. 

Every observer was struck with the unexpected air, 
manner, and attire of the prisoner. Dunscomb saw, at a 
glance, that her appearance had made a most favorable im- 
pression. This was something, and he hoped it might 
counteract much of the manoeuvring of Davis and Williams. 
The judge, in particular, a kind-hearted and very well- 
meaning man, was taken altogether by surprise. There is 
nothing in which there is more freemasonry than in the 
secret symptoms of social castes. Each individual is more 
or less of a judge of these matters, up to the level of his 
own associations, while all beyond is mystery. It hap- 
pened that the judge now about to try Mary Monson, be- 
longed to an old, historical New York family, a thing of 
rather rare occurrence in the great movements of the times,* 
and he possessed an hereditary tact in discerning persons 
of his own habits of life. Almost at a glance he perceived 
that the prisoner had the air, manners, countenance and 
finesse of one accustomed, from infancy, to good company. 
The reader may smile at, this, but he must pardon us if w r e 
say the smile will betray ignorance, rather than denote the 
philosophy that he may fancy controls his opinions. Duns- 
comb was much gratified when the judge rather earnestly 
interposed against the act of the sheriff, who was about to 
place the prisoner at the bar in the little barricaded place 
allotted to the use of ordinary criminals, directing him 

‘‘Give the prisoner a chair within tb« ^ur, Mr. Sheiiff. 
Gentlemen, be so good as to make room, that the accused 
may sit near her counsel. Mr. Attorney, let tlie prisoner 
be arraigned, as soon as she has rested from the fatigue 
and agitation of appearing here." 

This ceremony, now little; more than a blank form, was 
soon ended, and the plea of “ not guilty " was entered. The 
next step was to impanel the jury, a task of infinite dirti- 

17 


i 5 8 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

culty, and one that has got to be so much an outwork, in 
the proceedings in Criminal cases, as almost to baffle the 
powers of the law. It is no unusual thing for the time of 
the court to be occupied a week or two, in this prelimi- 
nary proceeding, until the evil has got to be so crying as 
to induce the executive to recommend that the legislature 
may devise some mode of relief. One of the most beset- 
ting vices of all American legislation in those cases in 
which abuses are not the offspring of party, is a false phil- 
anthropy, in which the wicked and evil-doer has been 
protected at the expense of the upright and obedient. The 
abuse just mentioned is one of those in which the bottom 
has been reached somewhat sooner than common ; but it 
is hazarding little to predict, that more than half which has 
been done within the last few years, under the guise of 
liberty and philanthropy, will have to be undone, ere the 
citizen will be left to the quiet enjoyment of his rights, or 
can receive the just protection of the laws. 

One of the common-sense and real improvements of the 
day is to swear the jurors, in all the causes that are to be 
tried, by one process. This is a saving of time ; and though 
the ceremony might be, and ought to be made, much more 
solemn and impressive than it is, as by causing all other 
business to cease, and to make every one present rise, and 
stand in reverential silence, while the name of the God of 
heaven and earth is invoked, still it is a great improvement 
on the ancient mode, and has reason to sustain it. It gives 
us pleasure to note such circumstances in the “ways of the 
hour,” whenever a sense of right can induce one who 
loathes the flattery of the people quite as much as he 
loathes that of princes, and flattery of all sorts, to say aught 
in favor of what has been done, or is yet doing around 
him. 

The clerk called the name of Jonas Wattles, the first 
juror drawn. This man was a respectable mechanic, of no 
trreat force in the Way of mind, but meaning well, and re- 
'p^est. Timms gave the senior counsel a look, 
winch the other understood to mean, “he may do.” No 
objection being made on account of the State, Jonas Wat- 
tles took his seat in the jury-box, which was thought great 
good luck for a capital case. 

“ Ira Trueman,” cried the clerk. 

A meaning pause succeeded the announcement of this 
name. Trueman was a person of considerable local influ- 
ence, and would probably carry great weight in a body 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR; 


259 


composed principally of men 6‘t’fen less instructed than fie 
was himself. What was more, both Timms and Williams 
knew that their respective agents had been hard at work id 
gain his ear, though neither knew exactly with what degree 
of success. It was consequently equally hazardous to 
accept or to oppose, and the two legal gladiators stood at 
bay, each waiting for the other to betray his opinion of the 
man. The judge soon became wearied, and inquired if. the 
juror was accepted. It was a somewhat amusing sight, 
now, to observe the manner in which Timms proceeded 
with Williams, and Williams met Timms, 

“ I should like to hear the gentleman’s objections to this 
juror,” observed Timms, “as I do not see that bib challenge 
is peremptory.” 

“ I have not challenged the juror at all,” answered Wil- 
liams, “but have understood the challenge comes from the 
defence.” 

“ This is extr’or’nary ! The gentleman looks defiance at 
the juror, and now declares he does not challenge ! ” 

“ Looks ! If lqoks made a challenge, the State might at 
once suffer these foul murders to go unpunished, for I am 
sure the gentleman’s countenance is a perfect thunder- 
cloud- .” 

“ I trust that counsel will recollect the gravity of this 
cause, and suffer it to be conducted with the decorum that 
ought never to be wanting in a court of justice,” interposed 
the judge. “ Unless there is a direct challenge, from one 
side or the other, the juror must take his seat, of course.” 

“ I should like to ask the juror a question or two,” 
Timms replied, speaking very cautiously, and like one who 
was afraid of hurting the feelings of the party under ex;- 
amination ; and in truth wary, lest on investigation he 
might discover that Trueman was likely to be the sort of 
person he wanted. “You have been at Biberry, juror, 
since the opening of the court ? ” 

Trueman nodded his head. 

“ Of course, you have been round among your friends 
and neighbors, that you have met with here ? ” 

Another nod from Trueman, with a sort of affirmative 
grunt. 

“You have probably heard more or less said concerning 
Mary Monson — I mean in a legal and proper way ? ” 

A third nod of assent. 

“ Can you speak anything, in particular, that has been 
said in your presence ?” 


26 o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


Trueman seemed to tax his memory, then he raised his 
head, and answered deliberately and with great clearness : 
“ I was going from the tavern to the court-house, when 
I met David Johnson ” 

“Never mind those particulars, Mr. Trueman,” inter- 
rupted Timms, who saw that the juror had bepn talking 
with one of his own most confidential agents— “ what the 
court wishes to know is, if any one has been reporting 
circumstances unfavorable to Mary Monson in your pres- 
ence ?” 

Or in her favor f put in Williams, with a sneer. 

“Juror,” interposed the judge— “ tell us if any one has 
spoken to you on the merits of this case- — for or against ? ” 

“ Merits ” — repeated Trueman, seeming to reflect again. 
“ No, your honor ; I can’t say that there has.” 

Now, this was as bold a falsehood as was ever uttered ; 
but Trueman reconciled the answer to his conscience by 
choosing to consider that the conversation he had heard 
had been on th q demerits of the accused. 

“I do not see, gentlemen, that you can challenge for 
cause,” observed his Honor — “ unless you have further 
facts.” 

“Perhaps we have, sir,” answered Williams. “ You were 
saying, Mr. Trueman, that you met David Johnson as you 
were going from the inn to the court-house. Did I under- 
stand you correctly ? ” 

“Just so, squire. I had been having a long talk with 
Peter Titus ” — one of Williams’s most active and confiden- 
tial agents — “when Johnson came up. Johnson says, says 
he, ‘ A pleasant day, gentlemen- — Pm glad to see you both 
out ; for the faces of old friends is getting scarce ’ ” 

“ I see no objection to the juror’s being received,” Wil- 
liams carelessly remarked ; Satisfied that Titus had not 
neglected his duty in that long talk. 

“ Yes, he is as good a juror as Dukes can furnish,” ob- 
served Timms, perfectly sure Johnson had turned to ac- 
count the advantage of having the last word. Trueman 
was accordingly admitted to the box, as the second man 
of the twelve. The two managers of this cause were both 
right. Titus had crammed his old acquaintance Trueman 
with all that was circulating to the prejudice of the pris- 
oner ; expressing surprise when he had said all he had to 
say, at hearing that his friend was on the panel. “Well,” 
said Titus, as Johnson approached, “if questioned, you’ll 
remember I said I didn’t dream of your being a juryman— 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


261 


but, just as like as not, you’ll not be drawn for the case at 
all.” On the other hand, Johnson was quite eloquent and 
pathetic in giving his old acquaintance the history of Mary 
Monson’s case, whom he pronounced “a most injured and 
parsecuted woman.” Trueman, a shrewd, managing fellow 
in general, fancied himself just as impartial and fit to try 
the cause, after he had heard the stories of the two men, as 
he had ever been ; but in this he was mistaken. It requires 
an unusually clear head, exceedingly high principles, and 
a great knowledge of men, to maintain perfect impartiality 
in these cases ; and certainly Trueman was not the man to 
boast pf all these rare qualities. In general, the last word 
tells ; but it sometimes happens that first impressions be- 
come difficult to eradicate. Such was the fact in the pres- 
ent instance ; Trueman taking his seat in the jury box with 
an exceedingly strong bias against the accused. 

We are aware that these are not the colors in which it is 
the fashion to delineate the venerable and much vaunted 
institution of the jury, certainly a most efficient agent in 
curtailing the power of a prince ; but just as certainly a 
most irresponsible, vague, and quite often an unprincipled 
means of administering the law, when men are not urged 
to the desire of doing right by political pressure from with- 
out, and are left to the perverse and free workings of a 
very evil nature. We represent things as we believe them 
to exist, knowing that scarce a case of magnitude occurs 
in which the ministers of corruption are not at work 
among the jurors or a verdict rendered in which the fingers 
of the Father of Lies might not be traced, were the veil 
removed, and the facts exposed to the light of day. It is 
true, that in trials for life, the persecution of the prisoner 
rarely takes so direct a form as has been represented in the 
case of Mary Monson ; but the press and the tongue do an 
incalculable amount of evil, even in such cases ; all the 
ancient safeguards of the law having been either directly 
removed by ill-considered legislation, or rendered dead- 
letters by the “ ways of the hour.” 

It was regarded as exceedingly good progress to get two 
jurors into the box, in a capital case, in the first half-hour. 
His honor had evidently resigned himself to a twenty-four 
hours’ job ; and great was his satisfaction when he saw 
Wattles and Trueman safely seated on their hard and un- 
comfortable seats ; for it would almost seem that discom- 
fort has been brought into the court-houses as a sort of 
auxiliary to the old practice of starving a jury into a verdict. 


262 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


Whether it was owing to a suspicion, on the part of 
Timms, of the truth in regard to his being over-reached in 
the case of Trueman, or to some other cause, he raised no 
objections to either of the six jurors next called. His 
moderation was imitated by Williams. Then followed two 
peremptory challenges ; one in behalf of the prisoner, and 
one in behalf of the people, as it is termed. This was get- 
ting on so much better than everybody expected, that all 
were in good humor, and, it is not exceeding the truth, if 
we add, in a slight degree more disposed to view the pris- 
oner and her case with favor. On such trifles do human 
decisions very often depend. 

All this time, fully an hour, did Mary Monson sit 'in re- 
signed submission to her fate, composed, attentive, and 
singularly ladylike. The spectators were greatly divided 
in their private speculations on her guilt or innocence. 
Some saw in her quiet manner, curious interest in the pro- 
ceedings, and unchanging color, proofs not only of a 
hardened conscience, but of an experience in scenes similar 
to that in which she was now engaged ; overlooking all the 
probabilities, to indulge in conjectures so severe against 
one so young. 

“Well, gentlemen,” cried the judge, “time is precious. 
Let us proceed.” 

The ninth juror was drawn, and it proved to be a 
country trader of the name of Hatfield. This person was 
known to be a man of considerable influence among per- 
sons of his own class, and to have a reputation for judg- 
ment, if not for principles. “ They might as well send the 
other eleven home, and let Hatfield pronounce the ver- 
dict,” whispered one lawyer to another ; “ there is no ma- 
terial in that box to withstand his logic.” 

“Then he will hold this young woman’s life in his 
hand,” was the reply. 

“ It will be pretty much so. The glorious institution of 
the jury is admirably devised to bring about such results.” 

“ You forget the judge ; he has the last word, you will 
remember.” 

“ Thank God it is so ; else would our condition be ter- 
rible. Lynch law is preferable to laws administered by 
jurors who fancy themselves so many legislators.” 

“ It cannot be concealed that the spirit of the times has 
invaded the jury-box ; and the court has not one-half its 
ancient influence. I should not like to have this Hatfield 
against me.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


263 


It would seem that Williams was of the same way of 
thinking ; for he muttered to himself, desired the juror 
not to enter the box, and seemed to be pondering on the 
course he ought to pursue. The truth was that he himself 
had recently sued Hatfield for debt, and the proceedings 
had been a little vindictive. One of the dangers that your 
really skilful lawyer has to guard against is the personal 
animosity that is engendered by his own professional prac- 
tice. Many men have minds so constituted that their 
opinions are affected by prejudices thus created ; and they 
do not scruple to transfer their hostility from the counsel 
to the cause he is employed to defend. It is consequently 
incumbent on the prudent lawyer to make his estimate of 
character with judgment, and be as sure, as the nature of 
the case will allow, that his client is not to suffer for his 
own acts. As hostility to the cbunsel is not a legal objection 
to a juror, Williams was under the necessity of presenting 
such as would command the attention of the court. 

“ I wish the juror may be sworn to make true answers,” 
said Williams. 

Timms now pricked up his ears ; for, if it were of im- 
portance for Williams to oppose the reception of this par- 
ticular individual, it was probably of importance to Mary 
Monsoh to have him received. On this principle, there- 
fore, he was ready to resist the attack on the juror, who 
was at once sworn. 

“You reside in the adjoining town of Blackstone, I be- 
lieve, Mr. Hatfield?” asked Williams. 

A simple assent was the reply. 

“In practice there, in one of the learned professions?” 

Hatfield was certain his interrogator knew better, for 
Williams had been in his store fifty times ; but he answered 
with the same innocent manner as that with which the 
question was put. 

“ I’m in trade.” 

“In trade ! Keep a store, I dare Say, Mr. Hatfield ?” 

“ 1 do — and one in which I have sold you hundreds my- 
self.” 

A general smile succeeded this sally ; and Timms looked 
round at the audience, with his nose pointing upward, as 
if he scented his game. 

“ I dare say — I pay as I go,” returned Williams, “ and 
my memory is not loaded with such transactions ” 

“Mr. Williams,” interrupted the judge, a little im- 
patiently, “the time of the court is very precious.” 


264 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“So is the dignity of the outraged laws of the State, 
your honor. We shall soon be through, sir. — Many people 
in the habit of frequenting your store, Mr. Hatfield?” 

“As much so as is usual in the country.” 

“Ten or fifteen at a time, on some occasions?” 

“ I dare say there may be.” 

“ Has the murder of Peter Goodwin ever been discussed 
by your customers in your presence ? ” 

“ I don’t know but it has — -such a thing is very likely ; 
but one hears so much, I can’t say.” 

“Did you ever join in such a discussion yourself?” 

“I may, or I may not.” 

“I ask you, now, distinctly, if you had no such discus- 
sion on the 26th of May last, between the hours of eleven 
and twelve in the forenoon ?” 

The sharpness of the manner in which this question was 
put, the minuteness, of the details, and the particularity of 
the interrogatories, quite confounded the juror, who an- 
swered accordingly. 

“Such a thing might have taken place, and it might not. 
I do not remember.” 

“Is Jonas White” (a regular country loafer) “in the 
habit of being in your store ?” . . 

TU,e is-rit is a considerable lounge for laboring men.” 

“And Stephen Hook?” 

“ Yes ; he is there a good deal of his time.” 

“ Now, I beg you to remember— did not such a conversa- 
tion take place, in which you bore a part, between the 
hours of eleven and twelve in the forenoon ; White and 
Hook being present ? ” 

Hatfield seemed perplexed. He very conscientiously 
desired to tell the truth, having nothing to gain by an 
opposite course ; but he really had no recollection of any 
such discussion, as well might be the case ; no such con- 
versation ever having taken place. Williams knew the 
habits of the loafers in question, had selected the time at 
random, and adopted the particularity merely as a means 
of confounding the juror, of whom he was seriously 
afraid. 

“ Such a thing may have happened,” answered Hatfield, 
after a pause — “ I don’t remember.” 

“ It may have happened. Now, sir, allow me to ask vou, 
if, in that conversation, you did not express an opinion 
that you did not, and could not believe that a lady educated 
and delicate, like the prisoner at the bar, did, or would, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 265 

under any circumstances, commit the offence with which 
Mary Monson is charged ? ” 

Hatfield grew more and more Confounded ; for Williams’s 
manner was more and more confident and' : cool. In this 
state of feeling he suffered the reply to 'escape him— 

“ I may have said as much — it seems quite natural.” 

“ I presume, after this,” observed Williams, carelessly, 
“your honor will order the juror not to enter the box ? ” 

“Not so fast— not so fast, brother Williams,” put in 
Timms, who felt it was now his turn to say a word, and 
who was thumbing a small pocket-almanac very diligently 
the while. 

“ This discussion, I understand the learned gentleman, 
took pla.ce in the juror’s store?” 

“ It did, sir,” was the answer — ♦‘a place where such dis- 
cussions are very apt to occur. Hook and White loaf Half 
their time away in that store.” 

“All quite likely — very likely to happen— Mr. Hatfield, 
do you open your store on the Sabbath ? ” 

“ Certainly not— I am very particular to do nothing of 
the sort.” 

“A church-member, I suppose, sir?” 

“An undeserving one, sir.” 

“ Never, on any account, in the practice of opening 
your store of a Sabbath, I understand you to say ? ” 

“Never, except in cases of sickness. We must all re- 
spect the wants of the sick.” 

“Are Hook and White in the habit of loafing about on 
your premises of a Sunday ? ” 

“Never — I wouldn’t tolerate it. The store is a public 
place on a week-day, and they can come in if they please ; 
but I wouldn’t tolerate such visits on the Sabbath.” 

“Yet, if the court please,- the 26th of last May happened 
to fall on the Sabbath day ! My brother Williams forgot 
to look into the almanac before he made up his brief.” 

Here Timms sat down, cocking his nose still higher, 
quite certain of having made a capital hit toward his views 
on the Senate, though he actually gained nothing for the 
cause. There was a general simper in the audience ; and 
Williams felt that he had lost quite as much as his op- 
ponent had gained. 

“Well, gentlemen, time is precious — let us go on,” in- 
terposed the judge. “ Is the juror to enter the box or not V' 

“ I trust a trifling mistake as to the day of the month is 
not about to defeat the ends of justice,” answered Wil- 


266 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


liams, raising himself higher on his stilts, as he found him- 
self sinking lower in his facts. “ I put it on the 26th by a 
miscalculation, I can now see. It was probably on the 25th 
--Saturday is the loafer’s holiday ; yes, it must have been 
on Saturday the 25th that the conversation took place.” 

“ Do you remember this fact, juror ? ” 

“ I remember, now so much has been said on the sub- 
ject,” answered Hatfield, firmly, “ that I was not at home 
at all between the 20th and the 27th of May last. I could 
have held no such conversation on the 25th or 26th of 
May ; nor do I know that I think Mary Monson either in- 
nocent or guilty.” 

As all this was true, and was uttered with the confidence 
of truth, it made an impression on the audience. Wil- 
liams doubted ; for so fine was his skill in managing men, 
that he often succeeded in gaining jurors by letting them 
understand he suspected them pi being prejudiced against 
his case. With the weak and vain, this mode of proceed- 
ing has frequently more success than a contrary course ; 
the party suspected being doubly anxious to illustrate his 
impartiality in his verdict. This was what Williams, and 
indeed the bar, very generally calls “standing so erect as 
to lean backward.” 

“Mr. Williams,” said the judge, “you must challenge 
peremptorily, or the juror will be received.” 

“ No, your honor, the State will accept the juror; I now 
see that my information has been wrong.” 

“We challenge for the defence,” said Timms, deciding 
on the instant, on the ground that if Williams was so ready 
to change his course of proceeding, there must be a good 
reason for it. “ Stand aside, juror.” 

“ Peter Bailey,” called the clerk. 

No objection being made, Peter Bailey took his seat. 
The two next jurors were also received unquestioned ; and 
it only remained to draw the twelfth man. This was so 
much better luck than commonly happens in capital cases, 
that everybody seemed more and more pleased, as if all 
were anxious to come to the testimony. The judge evi- 
dently felicitated himself, rubbing his hands with very 
great satisfaction. The bar, generally, entered into his 
feelings ; for it helped along Its business. 

“ On the whole,” observed one of the lawyers, who was 
in extensive practice, speaking to another at his side, “ I 
would as soon try one ‘of these murder cases as to go 
through with a good water-cause.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


267 


“ Oh ! they are excruciating ! Get into a good water- 
cause, with about thirty witnesses on a side, and you are in 
for a week. I was three days at one, only last circuit/’ 

“ Are there many witnesses in this case ? ” 

“ About forty, I hear,” glancing toward the benches 
where most of the females sat. “They tell me there will 
be a very formidable array as to character. Ladies from 
York by the dozen ! ” 

“They will be wanted, if all they say is true.” 

“If all you hear is true, we have reached a new epoch in 
the history of mankind. I have never seen the day when 
half of that I hear is more than half true. I set the rest 
down as ‘ leather and prunella.’ ” 

“ Robert Robinson,” cried the clerk. 

A respectable-looking man of fifty presented himself, 
and was about to enter the box without stopping to ascer- 
tain whether or not he would be welcome there. This 
person had much more the air of the world than either of 
the other jurors ; and with those who are not very partic- 
ular, or very discriminating in such matters, might readily 
enough pass for a gentleman. He was neatly dressed, 
wore gloves, and had certain chains, an eyeglass, and other 
appliances of the sort that it is not usual to see at a coun- 
try circuit. Neither Williams nor Timms seemed to know 
the juror ; but each looked surprised and undecided how 
he ought to act. The peremptory challenges were not 
‘ exhausted ; and there was a common impulse in the two 
lawyers, first to accept one so respectable in mien, and 
attire, and general air ; and then, by a sudden revolution 
of feeling, to reject one of whom they knew nothing. 

“ I suppose the summons is all right,” Williams care- 
lessly remarked. “The juror resides in Dukes ?” 

“ I do,” was the answer. 

“ Is a freeholder, and entitled to serve ?” 

A somewhat supercilious smile came over the counte- 
nance df the juror ; and he looked round at the person who 
could presume to make such a remark, with something 
very like an air of contempt. 

“ I am Doctor Robinson,” he then observed, laying 
emphasis on his learned appellation. 

Williams seemed at a loss ; for, to say the truth, he had 
. never heard of any such physician in the county. Timms 
was quite as much mystified ; when a member of the bar 
leaned across a table, and whispered to Dunscomb that the 
juror was a celebrated quack, who made pills that would 


268 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


cure all diseases ; and who, having made a fortune, had 
bought a place in the county, and was to all legal purposes 
entitled to serve. 

“The juror can stand aside,” said Dunscomb, rising in 
his slow dignified manner. “If it please the court, we 
challenge peremptorily.” 

Timms looked still more surprised ; and when told the 
reason for the course taken by his associate, he was even 
sorry. 

“The man is a quack” said Dunscomb, “ and there is 
quackery enough in this system of a jury, without calling 
in assistance from the more open practitioners.” 

“ I’m afraid, squire, he is just the sort of man we want. 
I can work on such spirits, when I fail altogether with 
more every-day kind of men. A little quackery does no 
harm to Some causes.” 

“Ira Kingsland,” called out the clerk. 

Ira Kingsland appeared, a staid, solid, respectable hus- 
bandman — one of those it is a mistaken usage of the coun- 
try to term yeomen ; and of a class that contains more use- 
ful information, practical good sense ar»d judgment, than 
might be imagined, under all the circumstances. 

As no objection was raised, this jur<? >- was received, and 
the panel was complete. After cautioning *he jurors about 
listening and talking, in the usual way, the judf-e adjourned 
the court for dinner. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

I know it is dreadful ! I feel the 

Anguish of thy generous soul — but I was born 

To murder all who love me. — George Barnwell. 

Dunscomb was followed to his room by Millington, be- 
tween whom and himself, John Wilmeter had occasion to 
remark, a sudden intimacy had sprung up. The counsel- 
lor had always liked his student, or he would never have 
consented to give him his niece ; but it was not usual for 
him to hold as long, or seemingly as confidential conversa- 
tions with the young man, as now proved to be the case. 
When the interview was over, Millington mounted a horse 
and galloped off, in the direction of town, in that almost 
exploded manner of moving. Time was, and that within 


THE IV A YS OF THE HOUR. 


269 


the memory of man, when the gentlemen of New York 
were in their saddles hours each day ; but all this is chang- 
ing with the times. We live in an age of buggies, the gig, 
phaeton, and curricle having disappeared, and the utili- 
tarian vehicle just named having taken their places. Were 
it not for the women, who still have occasion for closer 
carriages, the whole nation would soon be riding about in 
buggies ! Beresford is made, by one of his annotators, to 
complain that everything like individuality is becoming 
lost in England, and that the progress of great improve- 
ments must be checked, or independent thinkers will 
shortly be out of the question. If this be true of England, 
what might not be said on the same subject of America? 
Here, where there is so much community as to have com- 
pletely ingulfed everything like individual thought and ac- 
tion, we take it the most imitative people on earth are to 
be found. This truth is manifested in a thousand things. 
Every town is getting its Broadway, thus defeating the 
very object of names ; to-day the country is dotted with 
Grecian temples, to-morrow with Gothic villages, all the 
purposes of domestic architecture being sadly forgotten in 
each ; and, as one of the Spensers^ is said to have intro- 
duced the article of dress which bears liis name, by betting 
he could set the fashion of cutting off the skirts of the 
coat, so might one who is looked up to, in this country, al- 
most set the fashion of cutting off the nose. 

Dunscomb, however, was a perfectly original thinker. 
This he manifested in his private life, as well as in his pub- 
lic profession. His opinions were formed in his own way, 
and his acts were as much those of the individual as cir- 
cumstances would at aTl allow. His motives in dispatch- 
ing Millington so suddenly to town were known to him- 
self, and will probably be shown to the reader, as the 
narrative proceeds. 

“Well, sir, how are wc getting on ?” asked John Wil- 
meter, throwing himself into a chair, in his uncle’s room, 
with a heated and excited air. “ I hope things are going 
to your mind ? ” 

“We have got a jury, Jack, and that is all that can be 
said in the matter,” returned the uncle, looking over some 
papers as the conversation proceeded. “ It is good prog- 
ress, in a capital case, to get a jury impanelled in the first 
forenoon.” 

“ You’ll have the verdict in by this time to-morrow, sir, 
I’m afraid ! ” 


270 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 




h °- y ? The sooner the P oor woman is ao 
qunted, the better it will be for her." 

ino- aIw* Sh f ac( l uitted ; but I fear everything is look- 
ing dark in the case/' - 

nf ii-u^ *^1® from you, who fancied the .accused an angel 

-fh S^^ekte,!” 

^ r e . is Certainly a most fascinating creature, when she 
~aoo$e§ jq fye” said John, with emphasis ; '‘but she does not 
a/\yay$ choose to-appear in that character.” 
f if She is most certainly a fascinating creature, when she 
chooses to be ! ’’ returned the uncle, with very much the same 
sort of emphasis. 

But Dunscomb’s manner was very different from that of 
his nephew. John was excited, petulant, irritable, and in 
-a state to feel and say disagreeable things ; dissatisfied with 
Mmself, and consequently not very well pleased with 
-others. A great change had come over his feelings, truly,, 
within the last week, and the image of the gentle Anna 
JJpdyke.was fast taking the place of that of Mary Monson., 
As the latter seldom saw the young man, and then only at 
the gate, the former had got to be the means of communica- 
ition between the youthful advocate and his client, throwing 
; them constantly in each other’s way. On such occasions 
. Anna was always so truthful, so gentle, so earnest, so nat- 
uural, and so sweetly feminine, that John must have been 
made of stone to remain insensible of her excellent quali- 
ties. If women did but know how much their power, not 
to say charms, are increased by gentleness, by tenderness 
j in lieu of coldness of manner, by keeping within the nat- 
. ural circle of their sex’s feelings, instead of aping an inde- 
] pendence and spirit more suited to men than to their own 
< condition, we should see less of discord in domestic life, 
hhappier wives, better mothers, and more reasonable mis- 
titresses. No one knew this better than Dunscomb, who had 
tnotibeen an indifferent spectator of his nephew’s course, 
a«3dv#hx>. fancied this a favorable moment to say a word to 
him, cm a>:subject that he felt to be important 

“ This choosing to be is a very material item in the female 
character,” continued the counsellor, after a moment of 
silent and profound thought. “ Whatever else you may 
do, my boy, in the way of matrimony, marry a gentle and 
feminine woman. Take my word for it, there is no true 
happiness with any other.” 

“ Women have their tastes and caprices, and like to in* 
dulge them, sir, as well as ourselves.” 


271 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

“ All that may be true, but avoid what is termed a wo- 
man of independent spirit. They are usually so many 
devils incarnate. If they happen to unite moneyed inde- 
pendence with moral independence, I am not quite certain 
that their tyranny is not worse than that of Nero. A 
tyrannical woman is worse than a tyrannical man, because 
she is apt to be capricious. At one time she will blow hot, 
at the next cold ; at one time she will give, at the next 
clutch back her gifts ; to-day she is the devoted and obe- 
dient wife, to-morrow the domineering partner. No, no, 
Jack, marry a wo?nqn j which means a kind, gentle, affec- 
tionate, thoughtful creature, whose heart is so full of you, 
there is no room in it for herself. Marry just such a girl 
as Anna Updyke, if you can get her.” 

“I thank you, sir,” answered John, coloring. “ I dare 
say the advice is good, and I shall bear it in mind. What 
would you think of a woman like Mary Monson, for a 
wife ? ” 

Dunscomb turned a vacant look at his nephew, as if his 
thoughts were far away, and his chin dropped on his 
bosom. This abstraction lasted but a minute, however, 
when the young man got his answer. 

“ Mary Monson is a wife, and I fear a bad one,” returned 
the counsellor. “ If she be the woman I suppose her to be, 
her history, brief as it is, is a very lamentable one. John, 
you are my sister’s son, and my heir. You are nearer to 
me than any other human being, in one sense, though I 
certainly love Sarah quite as well as I do you, if not a lit- 
tle better. These ties of feeling are strange links in our 
nature ! At one time I loved your mother with a tender- 
ness such as a father might feel for a child ; in short, with 
a brother’s love — a brother’s love for a young, and pretty, 
and good girl, and I thought I could never love another 
as I loved Elizabeth. She returned my affection, and there 
was a period of many years when it was supposed that we 
were to pass down the vale of life in company, as brother 
and sister — old bachelor and old maid. Your father de- 
ranged all this, and at thirty-four my sister left me. It 
was like pulling my heart-strings out of me, and so much 
the worse, boy, because they were already sore.” 

John started. His uncle spoke hoarsely, and a shudder, 
that was so violent as to be perceptible to his companion, 
passed through his frame. The cheeks of the counsellor 
were usually colorless ; now they appeared absolutely 
pallid. 


272 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


“This, then,” thought John Wilmeter, “is the insensible 
old bachelor, who was thought to live altogether for him- 
self. How little does the world really know of what is 
passing within it ! Y/ell may it be said, ‘ There is a skele- 
ton in every house.’ ” 

Dunscomb soon recovered his self-command. Reaching 
forth an arm, he took his nephew’s hand, and said affec- 
tionately — 

“ I am not often thus, Jack, as you must know. A vivid 
recollection of days that have long been past came freshly 
over me, and I believe I have been a lktle unmanned. To 
you, my early history is a blank ; but a very few words will 
serve to tell you all you need ever know. I was about 
your time of life, Jack, when I loved, courted, and became 
engaged to Mary Millington— Michael’s great-aunt. Is 
this new to you ? ” 

“Not entirely,. sir ; Sarah has told me something of the 
same sort — you know the girls get hold of family anecdotes 
sooner than we men.” 

“ She then probably told you that I was cruelly, heart- 
lessly jilted for a richer man. Mary married, and left one 
daughter ; who also married early, her own cousin, Frank 
Millington, the cousin of Michael's father, ^ou may now 
see why I have ever felt so much interest in your future 
brother-in-law.” 

“ He is a good fellow, and quite free from all jilting 
blood. I’ll answer for it. But, what has become, of this 
Mrs. Frank Millington? I remember no such person.” 

“Like her mother, she died young, leaving an only 
daughter to inherit her name and very ample fortune. The 
reason you never knew Mr. Frank Millington is probably 
because he went to Paris early, where he educated his 
daughter, in a great degree — there, and in England — and 
when he died, Mildred Millington, the heiress of both 
parents, is said to have had quite twenty thousand a year. 
Certain officious friends made a match for her, I have 
heard, with a Frenchman of some family, but small means ; 
and the recent revolution had driven them to this country, 
where, as I have been told, she took the reins of domestic 
government into her own hands, until some sort of a sepa- 
ration has been the consequence.” 

“ Why this account is surprisingly like the report we 
have had concerning Mary Monson, this morning ! ” cried 
Jack, springing to his feet with excitement. 

“ I believe her to be the same person. Many things unite 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


' 273 


to create this opinion. In the first place, there is certainly 
a marked family resemblance to her grandmother and 
mother ; then the education, manners, languages, money, 
Marie Moulin, and the initials of the assumed name, each 
and all have their solution in this belief. The * Mademoi- 
selle ’ and the ‘ Madame ’ of the Swiss maid are explained ; 
in short, if we can believe this Mary Monson to be Madame 
de Larocheforte, we can find an explanation of everything 
that is puzzling in her antecedents.” 

“ But why should a woman of twenty thousand a year be 
living in the cottage of Peter Goodwin ?” 

“ Because she is a woman of twenty thousand a year. 
Monsieur de Larocheforte found her money was altogether 
at her own command, by this new law, and naturally 
enough, he desired to play something more than a pup- 
pet’s part in his own abode and family. The lady clings 
to her dollars, which she loves more that? her husband ; a 
quarrel ensues, and she chooses to retire from his protec- 
tion, and conceals herself, for a time, under Peter Good- 
win’s roof, to evade pursuit. Capricious and wrong-headed 
women do a thousand strange things, and thoughtless 
gabblers often sustain them in what they do.” 

“ This is rendering the marriage tie very slight ! ” 

“It is treating it with contempt ; setting at naught the 
laws of God and man — one’s duties and the highest obli- 
gations of woman. Still, many of the sex fancy if they 
abstain from one great and.distinct offence, the whole cata- 
logue of the remaining misdeeds is at their mercy.” 

“ Not to the extent of murder and arson, surely ! Why 
should such a woman commit these crimes ?” 

“ One never knows. We are fearfully constituted, John : 
morally and physically. The fairest form often conceals 
the blackest heart, and vice versa. But I am now satisfied 
that there is a vein of insanity in this branch of the Mil- 
lingtons ; and it is possible Madame de Larocheforte is 
more to be pitied than to be censured.” 

“You surely do not think her guilty, Uncle Tom ?” 

The counsellor looked intently at his nephew, shaded 
his brow a moment, gazed upward, and answered — 

“I do. There is such a chain of proof against her as will 
scarce admit of explanation. I am afraid, Jack — I am 
afraid that she has done these deeds, terrible as they are ! 
Such has been my opinion, now, for some time ; though 
my mind has vacillated, as I make no doubt will prove to 
be the case with those of most of the jurors. It is a sad 
18 


274 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


alternative ; but I see no safety for her except in the plea 
of insanity. I am in hopes that something may be made 
out in that respect” 

“ We are quite without witnesses to the point ; are we 
not, sir ? ” 

“Certainly; but Michael Millington has gone to town 
to send by telegraph for the nearest connections of 
Madame de Larocheforte, who are in the neigh borhpod of 
Philadelphia. The husband himself is somewhere on the 
Hudson. He must be hunted up too. Michael will see to 
all this. I shall get the judge to adjourn early this even- 
ing ; and we must spin out the trial for the next day or 
two, in order to collect our forces. The judge is young 
and indulgent. He has certain ridiculous notions about 
saving the time of the public ; but does not feel secure 
enough in his seat to be very positive.” 

At this instant Timms burst into the room, in a high 
state of excitement, exclaiming, the moment he was sure 
that his words would not reach any hostile ears — 

“Our case is desperate! All the Burtons are coming 
out dead against us ; and neither ‘ the new philanthropy,’ 
nor ‘Friends,’ nor ‘anti-gallows,’ can save us. I never 
knew excitement get up so fast. It i§ the infernal aristoc- 
racy that kills us ! Williams makes great use of it ; and 
our people will not stand aristocracy. See what a mag- 
nanimous report to the legislature the learned attorney- 
general has just made on the subject of aristocracy. How 
admirably he touches up the kings and countesses ! ” 

“Pshaw!” exclaimed Dunscomb, with a contemptuous 
curl of the lip- — “not one in a thousand knows the mean- 
ing of the word ; and he among the rest. The report you 
mention is that of a refined gentleman, to be sure, and is 
addressed to his equals. What exclusive political privilege 
does Mary Monson possess ? or what does the patroon, un- 
less it be the privilege of having more stolen from him, by 
political frauds, than any other man in the State ? This 
cant about social aristocracy, even in a state of society in 
which the servant deserts his master with impunity, in the 
midst of a dinner, is very miserable stuff! Aristocracy, 
forsooth ! If there be aristocracy in America, the black- 
guard is the aristocrat. Away, then, with all this trash, 
and speak common-sense in future.” 

“You amaze me, sir! Why I regard you as a sort of 
aristocrat, Mr. Dunscomb.” 

“ Me ! And what do you see aristocratic about me, pray ? ” 


2 75 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 

“ Why, sir, you don’t look like the rest of us. Your very 
walk is different— your language, manners, dress, habits 
and opinions, all differ from those of the Dukes County 
bar. Now, to my notion, that is being exclusive and 
peculiar ; and whatever is peculiar is aristocratic, is it 
not ? ” 

Here Dunscomb and his nephew burst out in a laugh ; 
and, for a few minutes, Mary Monson was forgotten. 
Timms was quite in earnest; for he had fallen into the 
<ev<ery-day notions, in this respect, and it was not easy to 
■ get him out of them. 

“ Perhaps the Dukes County bar contains the aristocrats, 
rand/I am the serf ! ” said the counsellor. 

‘“-That cannot be — you must be the aristocrat, if any 
there ,be- among us. I don’t know why it is so, but so it is; 
yes, you are the aristocrat, if there be one at our bar/’ 

Jack soiled, and looked funny, but he had the discre- 
tion to hold- his tongue. He had heard that a Duke of 
Norfolk, the top of the Engilish aristocracy, was so re- 
^markable for his personal haiaits as actually to be offen- 
sive ; a man who, .according to Timms’s notions, would 
have been a long way down £he social ladder ; but who, 
nevertheless, was a top peer, if not a top sawyer. It was 
easy to see that Timms .confounded a gentleman with an 
aristocrat ; a confusion in ideas that is very common, and 
which is far from being unnatural, when it is remembered 
show, few formerly acquired any of the graces of deport^ 
:ment.wha had not previously attained positive, exclusive, 
political rights. As, for the attorney-general and his re- 
port, Jack had sufficient sagacity to see it was a document 
that said one thing and meant another ; professing defer- 
ence ;f.or a. people that it did not stop, td compliment with 
the possession, of either common honesty or good man- 
ners. 

“ I -hope my aristocracy: is ; next likely to affect the inter- 
ests of .my client.” 

“ No ; j there is little danger, of that. It is the democracy 
<of the Burtons which will do that. 1 learn from. Johnson 
that they, are. coming out : stronger and stronger and I 
feel certain- Williams is sure -of their testimony. By the 
way, sir, I, had a hint from him, as we left the court-house, 
that the five, thousand dollars: might yet take him from the 
field.” 

“ This Mr. Williams, as well as yourself, Timms, must be 
more cautious, or the law will yet assert its power. It is 


276 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


very much humbled, I am aware, under the majesty of the 
people and a feeble administration of its authority ; but 
its arm is long, and its gripe potent, when it chooses to ex- 
ert its force. Take my advice, and have no more to do 
with such arrangements.” 

The dinner-bell put an end to the discussion. Timms 
vanished like a ghost ; but Dunscomb, whose habits were 
gentieman-like, and who knew that Mrs. Horton had as- 
signed a particular seat to him, moved more deliberately ; 
following his nephew about the time Timms was half 
through the meal. 

An American tavern-dinner, during the sitting of the 
circuit, is every way worthy of a minute and graphic 
description ; but our limits will hardly admit of our as- 
suming the task. If “ misery makes a man acquainted 
with strange bed-fellows,” so does the law. Judges, advo- 
cates, witnesses, sheriffs, clerks, constables, and not unfre- 
quently the accused, dine in common, with railroad speed. 
The rattling of knives, forks, and spoons, the clatter of 
plates, the rushing of waiters, landlord, landlady, chamber- 
maids, hostler and barkeeper included, produce a confu- 
sion that would do honor to the most profound “republi- 
can simplicity.” Everything approaches a state of nature 
but the eatables ; and they are invariably overdone. On 
an evil day some Yankee invented an article termed a 
“ cooking-stove ;” and since its appearance everything like 
good cookery has vanished from the common American 
table. There is plenty spoiled, abundance abused. Of 
made dishes, with the exception of two or three of very 
simple characters, there never were any ; and these have 
been burned to cinders by the baking processes of the 
“cook-stoves.” 

It matters little, however, to the convives of a circuit- 
court dinner, what the dishes are called, or of what they 
are composed. “Haste” forbids “taste ;” and it actually 
occurred that day, as it occurs almost invariably on such 
occasions, that a very clever country practitioner was asked 
the materiel of the dish he had been eating, and he could 
not tell it! Talk of the mysteries of French cookery! 
The “cook-stove” produces more mystery than all the art 
of all the culinary artists of Paris ; and this, too, on a 
principle that tallies admirably with that of the purest 
“ republican simplicity ; ” since it causes all things to taste 
alike. 

To a dinner of this stamp Dunscomb now sat down, just 


THE IV A VS OE THE HOUR. 


277 

ten minutes after the first clatter of a plate was heard, and 
just as the only remove was seen, in the form of slices of 
pie, pudding, and cake. With his habits, railroad speed, 
or lightning-like eating could find no favor ; and he and 
Jack got their dinner, as best they might, amid the con- 
fusion and remnant of the close of such a repast. Nine- 
tenths of those who had so lately been at work as trencher- 
men were now picking their teeth, smoking cigars, or pre- 
paring fresh quids for the afternoon. A few clients were 
already holding their lawyers by the button ; and here and 
there one of the latter led the way to his room to “ settle ” 
some slander cause in which the plaintiff had got frightened. 

It is a bad sign when eating is carried on without con- 
versation. To converse, however, at such a table, is, mor- 
ally if not physically, impossible. Morally, because each 
man’s mind is so intent on getting as much as he wants 
that it is almost impossible to bring his thoughts to bear 
on any other subject ; physically, on account of the clat- 
ter, a movement in which an eclipse of a plate by the body 
of a waiter is no unusual thing, and universal activity of 
the teeth. Conversation under such circumstances would 
be truly a sort of ventriloquism ; the portion of the hu- 
man frame included in the term being all in all just at that 
moment. 

Notwithstanding those embarrassments and unpleasant 
accompaniments, Dunscomb and his nephew got their din- 
ners, and were about to quit the table as McBrain entered. 
The doctor would not expose his bride to the confusion of 
the common table, where there was so much that is revolt- 
ing to all trained in the usages of good company, singularly 
blended with a decency of deportment, and a considera- 
tion for the rights of each, that serve to form bright spots 
in American character ; but he had obtained a more pri- 
vate room for the females of his party.. 

“We should do pretty well,” observed McBrain, in ex- 
plaining his accommodations, “ were it not for a trouble- 
some neighbor in an adjoining room, who is either insane 
or intoxicated. Mrs. Horton has put us in your wing, 
and I should think you must occasionally hear from him 
too ? ” 

“ The man is constantly drunk, they tell me, and is a 
little troublesome at times. On the whole, however, he 
does not annoy me much. I shall take the liberty of din- 
ing with you to-morrow, Ned ; this eating against time 
does not agree with my constitution.” 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


278 

“To-morrow! I was thinking that my examination 
would be ended this afternoon, and that we might return 
to town in the morning. You will remember I have pa- 
tients to attend to.” 

“You will have more reason for patience. If you get 
through in a week, you will be lucky.” 

“ It is a curious case ! I find all the local faculty ready 
to swear through thick and thin against her. My own 
opinion is fixed— but what is the opinion of one man 
against those of several in the same profession ?” 

“We wiM [put that question to Mrs. Horton, who is com- 
ing to ask how . we h^ve dined. Thank'ee, my good Mrs. 
Horton, we have, done remarkably well, considering all the 
.circumstances. ” 

The landlady wa$ pleased, and smirked, and expressed 
tier gratification. The sous entendu of Dunscomb was lost 
upon her: and human -vanity is very apt to accept the flat- 
tering, and to .overlook the, disagreeable. She was pleased 
that the great York lawyer was satisfied. 

Mrs. Horton was an American landlady, in the strictest 
sense <qf the word. This implies many features distinct 
from her European counterpart ; some of which tell greatly 
in her favor, and others not so much so. Decency of exte- 
rior, and a feminine .deportment, are so characteristic of 
the sex In this country, that they need: scarcely be adverted 
to. There were no sly jokes, no doubles entendres .with Mrs. 
Horton ; who maintained [too grave a countenance, to. admit 
of such liberties. Then, she was .entirely free from the, lit- 
tle expedients of a desire ,to gain that. are naturally enough 
adopted in older communities, where the pressure of , num- 
bers drives the poor to their wits’ end in order to liye. 
American abundance had generated American liberality 
in Mrs. Horton ; and if one of her guests asked for bread, 
she would give him the loaf. She was, moreover, what the 
country round termed “ accommodating ;” meaning that 
she was obliging and good-natured. Her faults were a 
fierce love of gossip, concealed under a , veil of great indif- 
ference and modesty, a prying curiosity, and a determina- 
tion to know everything touching everybody who ever 
came under her roof. This last propensity had got her 
into difficulties, several injurious reports having been 
•traced to her tongue, which was indebted to her imagina- 
tion for fully one-half of what she had circulated. It is 
^scarcely necessary to add, that, among the right set, Mrs. 
Horton was a great talker. As Dunscomb was a favorite, 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


279 


he was not likely to escape on the present occasion ; the 
room being clear of all the guests but those of his own 
party. 

“ I am glad to get a little quiet talk with you, Squire 
Dunscomb,” the landlady commenced; “for a body can 
depend on what is heard from such authority. Do they 
mean to hang Mary Monson?” 

“ It is rather premature to ask that question, Mrs. Hor- 
ton. The jury is impanelled, and there we stand at present.” 

“ Is it a good jury ? Some of our Dukes County juries 
are none too good, they tell me.” 

“ The whole institution is a miserable contrivance for the 
administration of justice. Could a higher class of citizens 
compose the juries, the system might still do, with a few 
improvements.” 

“Why not elect them?” demanded the landlady, who 
was, ex officio., a politician, much as women are usually poli- 
ticians in this country. In other words, she felt her opin- 
ions, without knowing their reasons. 

“God forbid, my good Mrs. Horton — we have elective 
judges ; that will do for the present. Too inuch of a good 
thing is as injurious as the positively bad. I prefer the 
present mode of drawing lots.” 

“Have you got a Quaker in the box ? If you have, you 
are safe enough.” 

“ I doubt if the district attorney would suffer that ; al- 
though he appears to be kind and considerate. The man 
who goes into that box must be prepared to hang if neces- 
sary.” 

“ For my part, I wish all hanging was done away with. 
I can see no good that hanging can do a man.” 

“You mistake the object, my dear Mrs. Horton, though 
your argument is quite as good as many that are openly 
advanced on the same side of the question.” 

“Just hear me, squire,” rejoined the woman; for she 
loved dearly to get into a discussion on any question that 
she was accustomed to hear debated among her guests. 
“The country hangs a body to reform a body ; and what 
good can that do when a body is dead ? ” 

“Very ingeniously put,” returned the counsellor, politely 
offering his box to the landlady, who took a few grains ; 
and then deliberately helping himself to a pinch of snuff— 
“quite as ingeniously as much of the argument that ap- 
pears in public. The objection lies to the premises, and 
not to the deduction, which is. absolutely logical and just. 


28 o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


A hanged body is certainly an unreformed body ; and, 
as you say, it is quite useless to hang in order to re- 
form.” 

“There!” exclaimed the woman in triumph — “I told 
Squire Timms that a gentleman who knows as much as 
you do must be on our side. Depend on one thing, Law- 
yer Dunscomb, and you too, gentlemen — depend on it, that 
Mary Monson will never be hanged.” 

This was said with a meaning so peculiar, that it struck 
Dunscomb, who watched the woman’s earnest countenance 
while she was speaking, with undeviating interest and in- 
tensity. 

‘It is my duty and my wish, Mrs. Horton, to believe as 
much, and to make others believe it also, if I can,” he an- 
swered, now anxious to prolong a discourse that a moment 
before he had found tiresome. 

“You can, if you will only try. I believe in dreams— - 
and I dreamt a week ago that Mary Monson would be ac- 
quitted. It would be ag’in all our new notions to hang so 
nice a lady.” 

“ Our tastes might take olfence at it ; and taste is of some 
influence yet, I am bound to agree with you.” 

“ But you do agree with me in the uselessness of hang- 
ing, when the object is to reform ? ” 

“ Unfortunately for the force of that argument, my dear 
landlady, society does not punish for the purposes of refor- 
mation — that is a very common blunder of superficial 
philanthropists.” 

“Not for the purpose of reformation, squire! You as- 
tonish me ! Why, for what else should it punish ? ” 

“ For its own protection. To prevent others from com- 
mitting murder. Have you no other reason than your 
dream, my good Mrs. Horton, for thinking Mary Monson 
will be acquitted ?” 

The woman put on a knowing look, and nodded her 
head significantly. At the same time, she glanced toward 
the counsellor’s companions, as much as to say that their 
presence prevented her being more explicit. 

“Ned, do me the favor to go to your wife, and tell her 
I shall stop in, and say a kind word as I pass her door ; — 
and, Jack, go and bid Sarah be in Mrs. McBrain’s parlor, 
ready to give me my morning’s kiss.” 

The doctor and John complied, leaving Dunscomb alone 
with the woman. 

“May I repeat the question, my good landlady ? Why 


THE W'A VS OF THE HOUR . 


281 


do you think Mary Monson is to be acquitted?” asked 
Dunscomb, in one of his softest tones. 

Mrs. Horton mused, seemed anxious to speak, but strug- 
gling with some power that withheld her. One oi her 
hands was in a pocket where the jingling of keys and pence 
made its presence known. Drawing forth this hand me- 
chanically, Dunscomb saw that it contained several eagles. 
The woman cast her eyes on the gold, returned it hastily 
to her pocket, rubbed her forehead, and seemed the wary, 
prudent landlady once more. 

“ I hope you like your room,' squire ? ” she cried, in a 
thoroughly inn-keeping spirit. “ It’s the very best in this 
house ; though I’m obliged to tell Mrs. McBrain the same 
story as to her apartment. But you have the best. You 
have a troublesome neighbor between you, I’m afraid ; 
but he’ll not be there many days, and I do all I can to 
keep him quiet.” 

“Is that man crazy?” asked the counsellor, rising, per- 
ceiving that he had no more to expect from the woman 
just then ; “or is he only drunk ? I hear him groan, and 
then I hear him swear ; though I cannot understand what 
he says.” 

“ He’s sent here by his friends ; and your wing is the 
only place we have to keep him in. When a body is well 
paid, squire, I suppose you know that the fee must not be 
forgotten ? Now, inn-keepers have fees, as well as you 
gentlemen of the bar. How wonderfully Timms is getting 
along, Mr. Dunscomb ! ” 

“I believe his practice increases; and they tell me he 
stands next to Mr. Williams in Dukes.” 

“ He does, indeed ; and a ‘ bright particular star,’ as the 
poet says, has he got to be ! ” 

“ If he be a star at all,” answered the counsellor, curling 
his lips, “it must be a very particular one, indeed. I am 
sorry to leave you, Mrs. Horton ; but the intermission is 
nearly up.” 

Dunscomb gave a little friendly nod, which the landlady 
returned ; the former went his way with singular coolness 
of manner, when it is remembered that on him rested the 
responsibility of defending a fellow-creature from the gal- 
lows. What rendered this deliberation more remarkable, 
was the fact that he had no faith in the virtue of Mrs. 
Horton’s dream. 


282 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Wilt thou behold me sinking in my woes, 

And wilt thou not reach out a friendly arm, 

To raise me from amidst this plunge of sorrow ? 

—Addison. 

“ Call the names of the jurors, Mr. Clerk,” said the 
judge. “Mr. Sheriff, I do not see the prisoner in her 
place.” 

This produced a stir. The jurors were called, and an- 
swered to their names ; and shortly after Mary Monson 
appeared. The last was accompanied by the ladies, who 
might now be said to belong to her party,, though no one 
but herself and Marie Moulin came within the bar. 

There was profound stillness in the hall, for it was felt 
that now the issue of life or death was actually approach- 
ing. Mary Monson gazed, not with disquietude, but in- 
terest, at the twelve men who were to decide on her in- 
nocence or guilt — men of habits and opinions so differ- 
ent from her own — men so obnoxious to prejudices against 
those whom the accidents of life had made objects of envy 
or hatred — men too much occupied with the cares of exist- 
ence to penetrate the arena of thought, and who conse- 
quently held their opinions at the mercy of others — men 
unskilled, because without practice, in the very solemn and 
important office now imposed on them by the law— men 
who might indeed be trusted, so long as they would defer 
to the court and reason, but who were terrible and dan- 
gerous, when they listened, as is too apt to be the case, to 
the suggestions of their own impulses, ignorance and prej- 
udice. Yet these men were Mary Monson’s peers, in the 
eyes of the law — would have been so viewed and accepted 
in a case involving the feelings and practices of social 
caste, about which they knew absolutely nothing, or, what 
is worse than nothing, a very little through the medium of 
misrepresentation and mistaken conclusions. 

It is the fashion to extol the institution of the jury. Our 
own experience, by no means trifling, as foreman, as suit- 
or, and as a disinterested spectator, does not lead us to 
coincide in this opinion. A narrative of the corrupt, mis- 
guided, partial, prejudiced, or ignorant conduct that we 
have ourselves witnessed in these bodies, would make a 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


283 

legend of its own. The power that most misleads such 
men is one unseen by themselves, half the time, and is con- 
sequently so much the more dangerous. The feelings of 
neighborhood, political hostility, or party animosities, are 
among the commonest evils that justice has to encounter, 
when brought in contact with tribunals thus composed. 
Then come the feelings engendered by social castes, an in- 
exhaustible source of evil passions. Mary Monson had 
been told of the risks she ran from that source ; though 
she had also been told, and with great truth, that so much 
of the spirit of God still remains in the hearts and minds 
of men, as to render a majority of those who were to be the 
arbiters of her fate conscientious and careful in a capital 
case. Perhaps, as a rule, the singularity of his situation, 
with a man who finds himself, for the first time, sitting as 
a juror in a trial for a human life, is one of the most avail- 
able correctives of his native tendencies to do evil. 

“Mr. District Attorney, are you ready to proceed ?” in- 
quired the judge. 

This functionary rose, bowed to the court and jury, and 
commenced his opening. His manner was unpretend- 
ing, natural, and solemn. Although high talent and or- 
iginal thought are very rare in this pountry, as they are 
everywhere else, there is a vast fund of intellect of a sec- 
ondary order ever at the command of the public. The 
district attorney of Dukes was a living witness of this truth. 
He saw all within his reach clearly, and, possessing great 
experience, he did his duty, on this occasion, in a very 
creditable manner. No attempt was made to awaken prej- 
udice of any sort against the accused. She was presented 
by the grand inquest, and it was his and their painful duty, 
including his honor on the bench, to investigate this 
matter, and make a solemn decision, on their oaths. Mary 
Monson was entitled to a fair hearing, to all the advantages 
that the lenity of the criminal law of a very humane state 
of society could afford, and for “ God’s sake let her be ac- 
quitted should the State fail to establish her guilt ! ” 

Mr. District Attorney then proceeded to give a narrative 
of the events as he supposed them to have occurred. He 
spoke of the Goodwins as “poor, but honest ” people, a sort 
of illustration that is in much favor, and deservedly so, when 
true. “It seems, gentlemen,” the district attorney con- 
tinued, “that the wife had a propensity, or a fancy, to 
collect gold pieces, no doubt as a store against the wants 
of age. This money was kept in a stocking, according to 


284 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


the practice of country ladies, and was often exhibited to 
the neighbors. We may have occasion, gentlemen, to show 
you that some fifteen or twenty persons, at different times, 
have seen and handled this gold. You need not be told 
what natural curiosity is, but must all know how closely 
persons little accustomed to see money of this sort would 
be apt to examine the more rare pieces in particular. There 
happened to be several of these pieces among the gold of 
Mrs. Goodwin ; and one of them was an Italian or Dutch 
coin, of the value of four dollars, which commonly goes 
by the name of the king whose likeness is on the piece. 
This Dutch or Italian coin, no matter which, or William, 
was seen, and handled, and examined, by several persons, 
as we shall show you. 

“Now, gentlemen, the stocking that contained the gold 
coins was kept in a bureau, which bureau was saved from 
the fire, with all its contents ; but the stocking and the 
gold were missing ! These fadts will be shown to you by 
proof that puts them beyond a peradventure. We shall 
next show to you, gentlemen, that on a public examination 
of the prisoner at the bar, the contents of her purse were 
laid open, and the Dutdh or Italian coin I have mentioned 
was found, along with more than a hundred dollars of other 
pieces, which, being in American coin, can not so readily 
be identified. 

“The prosecution relies, in a great degree, on the proof 
that will be offered in connection with this piece of money, 
to establish the guilt of the prisoner.. We are aware that, 
when this piece of money was found on her person, she 
affirmed it was hers ; that she had been possessed of two 
such pieces, and that the one Seen in Mrs. Goodwin’s stock- 
ing had been a present from herself to that unfortunate 
woman. 

“ Gentlemen, if persons accused of crimes w r ould vin- 
dicate themselves by their own naked statements, there 
would be very few convictions. Reason tells us that proof 
must be met by proof. Assertions will not be received as 
against the accused, nor will they be taken in her favor. 
Your own good sense will tell you, gentlemen, that if it be 
shown that Dorothy Goodwin possessed this particular 
piece of gold, valued it highly, and was in the practice of 
hoarding all the gold she could lay her hands on lawfullv; 
that the said Dorothy Goodwin’s residence was burned, 
she herself murdered by a savage and cruel blow or blows 
on the occiput or head ; that Mary Monson, the prisoner 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR , 


285 


at the bar, knew of the existence of this little stock of gold 
coins, had seen it, handled it, and doubtless coveted it ; re- 
siding in the same house, with easy access to the bedside 
of the unhappy couple, with easy access to the bureau, to 
the keys which opened that bureau, for its drawers were 
found locked, just as Mrs. Goodwin was in the habit of 
leaving them ; but, gentlemen, if all this be shown to you, 
and we then trace the aforesaid piece of coin to the pocket 
of Mary Monson, we make out <\. prima facie case of guilt, 
as I conceive ; a case that will throw on her the onus of 
showing that she came in possession of the said piece of 
coin lawfully, and by no improper means. Failing of this, 
your duty will be plain. 

“It is incumbent on the prosecution to make out its 
case, either by direct proof, on the oaths of credible wit- 
nesses, or by such circumstances as shall leave no doubt in 
your minds of the guilt of the accused. It is also incum- 
bent that we show that the crimes, of which the prisoner 
is accused, have been committed, and committed by her. 

“ Gentlemen, we shall offer you this proof. We shall 
show you that the skeletons of which I have spoken, and 
which lie under that pall, sad remains of a most ruthless 
scene, are beyond all question the skeletons of Peter and 
Dorothy Goodwin. This will be shown to you by proof ; 
though all who know the parties can almost see the like- 
ness in these sad relics of mortality. Peter Goodwin, as 
will be shown to you, was a very short, but sturdy man, 
while Dorothy, his wife, was a woman of large size. The 
skeletons meet this description exactly. They were found 
on the charred wood of the bedstead the unhappy couple 
habitually used, and on the very spot where they had passed 
so many previous nights in security and peace. Everything 
goes to corroborate the identity of the persons whose re- 
mains have been found, and I regret it should be my duty 
to add, that everything goes to fasten the guilt of these 
murders on the prisoner at the bar. 

“Gentlemen, although we rely mainly on the possession 
of the Dutch or Italian coin, no matter which, to establish 
the case for the State, we shall offer you a great deal of 
sustaining and secondary proof. In the first place, the 
fact that a female, young, handsome, well, nay, expensively 
educated, coming from nobody knows whence, to go no- 
body knows whither, should suddenly appear in a place 
as retired as the house of Peter Goodwin, why no one can 
say, is iff itself very suspicious. Gentlemen, ‘ all is not 


286 


THE WAVS OF THE HOUR. 



gold that glitters/ Many a man, and many a woman, in 
places large as New' York, are not what they seem to be. 
They dress, and lailgh, and sing, and appear to be among the 
gavest of the gay, when they do not know where to lay their 
heads at night. Large td'yirns are moral blotches, they say, 
on the face of the comintihity, and they conceal many 
thino-s that will not bear the light From one of these 
large towns, it is to be presumed from her dress, manners, 
education, amusen?ents, and all belonging to he], came 
Mary Monson, to ask an asylum in the dwelling of the 
Goodwins. Gentlemen, why did she come ? Had she 
heard of the hoard of Mrs. Goodwin, and die? she crave the 
possession of the gold ? These questions it will be your 
duty to answer in your verdict. Should the reply be in 
the affirmative, you obtain, at oi7ce, a direct clew to the 
motives of the murder. 

“ Among the collateral proof that will be offered are the 
following circumstances, to which I now ask your partic- 
ular attention, in order that you m^y give to the testi- 
mony its proper value : It will be shown that Mary Mon- 
son had a large sum in gold in her possession, after the 
arson and murders, and consequently after the robbery, 
but no one knew of her having any before. It will be 
shown that she has money in abundance, scattering it right 
and left, as we suppose, to procure her acquittal, and this 
money, we believe, she took from the bureau of Mrs. Good- 
win — how much is not known. It is thought that the 
sum was very large ; the gold alone amounted to near a 
thousand dollars, and two witnesses will testify to a still 
larger amount in bank-notes. The Goodwins talked of 
purchasing a farm, valued at five thousand dollars ; and 
as they were known never to run in debt, the fair infer- 
ence is, that they must have had at least that sum by them. 
A legacy was left Dorothy Goodwin within the last six 
months, which we hear was very considerable, and we 
hope to be able to put a witness on the stand who will tell 
you all about it. 

“ But, gentlemen, a circumstance worthy of all atten- 
tion in an investigation like this, is connected with an an- 
swer to this question : Who is Mary Monson ? What are 
her parentage, birthplace, occupation, and place ( of res- 
idence ? Why did she come to Biberry at all ? In a word, 
what is her past history ? Let this be satisfactorily ex- 
plained, and a great step is taken toward her vindication 
from these most grave charges. Shall we have witnesses 


THE WAVS OF THE HOUR. 287 

to character? No one will be happier to listen to them 
than myself. My duty is far from pleasant. I sincerely 
hope the prisoner will find lawfu-1 means to convince you 
of her innocence. There is not one within the walls of 
this building who will hear such a verdict, if sustained by 
law arid evidence, with greater pleasure than it will be 
heard by me.” 

After pursuing this vein some time longer, the worthy 
functionary of the State showed a little of that cloven 
foot which Seems to growori all, even to the cleanest heels, 
\tho look to the popular voice for preferment. No mat- 
ter who the man is, rich or poor, young or old, foolish 
or wise, he bows down before the idol of Numbers, and 
there worships. Votes being the one thing wanted, must 
be bought by sacrifices on the altar of conscience. Now 
it is by wild, and, half the time, impracticable schemes of 
philanthropy, that, while they seem to work good to the 
majority, are quite likely to disregard the rights of the 
minority ; now they fire flourishes against negro slavery, 
or a revolution in favor of the oppressed inhabitants of 
Crim-Tartary, of the real state of which country we are 
all as ignorant as its inhabitants are ignorant of us ; now 
it’s an exemption law, to enable a man to escape from the 
payment of his just debts, directly in the teeth of the 
sound policy, riot to say morality, that if a man o\Ve he 
should be riiade to pay as long as he has anything to do it 
with ; now it is a hymn in praise of liberty, that the poet 
neither comprehends nor cares to look into further than 
may suit his own selfish patriotisin ; and now it is some 
other of the thousand modes adopted by the designing to 
delude the masses and advance themselves. 

On this occasion the district attorney was very cautious, 
but he showed the cloven foot. He paid a passing trib- 
ute to the god of Numbers, worshipped before the hie- 
rarchy of votes. u Gentlemen,” he continued, “like my- 
self, you are plain, unpretending citizens. Neither you, 
nor your wives and daughters, speak in foreign tongues, 
or play on foreign instruments of music. We have been 
brought up in republican simplicity [God bless it ! say 
we, could we ever meet with it], and lay no claims to 
superiority of any sort. Our place is in the body of the 
nation, and there we are content to remain. We shall 
pay no respect to dress, accomplishments, foreign lan- 
guages, or foreign music ; but the evidence sustaining 
us will show the world that the law frowns as well on 


288 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


the great as on the little : cn the pretending as well as on 
the unpretending.” 

As these grandiose sentiments were uttered, several of 
the jurors half rose from their seats, in the eagerness to 
hear, and looks of approbation passed from eye to eye. 
This was accepted as good republican doctrine : no one 
there seeing, or feeling, as taste and truth would have 
shown, that the real pretension was on the side of an ex- 
aggerated self-esteem, that prompted to resistance ere re- 
sistance was necessary, under the influence of, perhaps, 
the lowest passion of human nature — we allude to envy. 
With a little more in the same vein, the district attorney 
concluded his opening. 

The great coolness, not to say indifference, with which 
Mary Monson listened to this speech, was the subject of 
general comment among the members of the bar. At 
times she had been attentive, occasionally betraying sur- 
prise ; then indignation would just gleam in her remark- 
able eye; but, on the whole, an uncommon calmness 
reigned in her- demeanor. Sh$ had prepared tablets for 
notes ; and twice she wrote in them as the district at- 
torney proceeded. This was when he adverted to her past 
life, and when he commented on the Dutch coin. While 
he was speaking of castes, flattering one set under the 
veil of pretending humility, and undermining their oppo- 
sites, a look of quiet contempt was apparent in every feat- 
ure of her very expressive face. 

“ If it please the court,” said Dunscomb, rising in his 
deliberate way, “ before the prosecution proceeds with 
its witnesses, I could wish to appeal to the courtesy 
of the gentlemen on the other side for a list of their 
names.” 

“ I believe we are not bound to furnish any such list,” 
answered Williams, quickly. 

“ Perhaps not bound exactly in law ; but, it strikes me, 
bound in justice. This is a trial for life ; the proceedings 
are instituted by the State. The object is justice, not ven- 
geance — the protection of society through the agency of 
an impartial, though stern justice. The State cannot wish 
to effect anything by surprise. We are accused of murder 
and arson, with no other notice of what is to be shown, or 
how anything is to be shown, than what is contained in the 
bill or complaint. Any one can see how important it may 
be to us, to be apprised of the names of the witnesses a 
little in advance, that we may inquire into character and 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 289 

note probabilities. I do not insist on any right ; but I ask 
a favor that humanity sanctions.” 

“If it please the court,” said Williams, “we have an 
important trust. I will here say that I impute nothing- 
improper to either of the prisoner’s counsel ; but it is my 
duty to suggest the necessity of our being cautious. A 
great deal of money has been expended already in this 
case, and there is always danger of witnesses being bought 
off. On behalf of my client, I protest against the de- 
ni mds being complied with.” 

“ The court has no objection to the course asked by the 
prisoner’s counsel,” observed the judge, “ but cannot direct 
it. The State can never wish its officers to be harsh or ex- 
acting : but it is their duty to be prudent. Mr. District 
Attorney, are you ready with your evidence ? Time is 
precious, sir.” 

The testimony for the prosecution is now offered. We 
shall merely advert to most of it, reserving our details for 
those witnesses on whom the cause, might be said to turn. 
Two very decent-looking and well-behaved men, farm- 
ers who resided in the vicinity of Biberry, were put on 
the stand to establish the leading heads of the case. 
They had known Peter and Dorothy Goodwin ; had often 
stopped at the house ; and were familiarly acquainted with 
the old couple, as neighbors. Remembered the fire — was 
present at it, toward its close. Saw the prisoner there ; 
saw her descend, by a ladder ; and assisted in saving her 
effects. Several trunks, carpet-bags, band-boxes, writing- 
desks, musical instruments, etc., etc. All were saved. “It 
seemed to them that they had been placed near the windows , in a 
way to be handy I “After the fire, had never seen or heard 
anything of the old man and his wife, unless two skeletons 
that had been found were their skeletons. Supposed them 
them to be the skeletons of Peter Goodwin and his wife.” 
Here the remains were for the first time on that trial ex- 
posed to view. i( Those are the same skeletons, should 
say — had no doubt of it ; they are about the size of the old 
couple. The husband was short ; the wife tall. Little or 
no difference in their height. Had never seen the stock- 
ing or the gold ; but had heard a good deal of talk of 
them, having lived near neighbors to the Goodwins five- 
and-twenty years.” 

Dunscomb conducted the cross-examination. He was 
close, discriminating, and judicious. Separating the hear- 
say and gossip from the facts known, he at once threw the 

19 


290 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


former to the winds, as matter not to be received by the 
jury. We shall give a few of his questions and their an- 
swers that have a bearing on the more material points of 
the trial. 

“ I understand you to say, fitness, that you knew both 
Peter Goodwin and his wife.” 

“ I did — I knew them well — saw them almost every day 
of my life.” 

“ For how long a time ? ” 

“This many a day. For five-and-twenty years, or a 
little more.” 

“ Will you say that you have been in the habit of seeing 
Peter Goodwin and his wife daily, or almost daily, for 
five-and-twenty years ? ” 

“ If not right down daily, quite often ; as often as once 
or twice a week, certainly.” 

“ Is this material, Mr. Dunscomb ?” inquired the judge. 
“The time of the court is very precious.” 

“ It is material, your honor, as showing the looseness 
with which witnesses testify ; and as serving to caution 
the jury how they receive their evidence. The opening 
of the prosecution shows us that if the charge is to be 
made out at all against the prisoner, it is to be made out 
on purely circumstantial evidence. It is not pretended 
that any one saw Mary Monson kill the Goodwins ; but the 
crime is to be inferred from a series of collateral facts, 
that will be laid before the court and jury. I think your 
honor will see how important it is, under the circum- 
stances, to analyze the testimony, even on points that may 
not seem to bear directly on the imputed crimes. If a 
witness testify loosely, the jury ought to be made to see it. 
I have a life to defend, your honor will remember.” 

“ Proceed, sir ; the court will grant you the widest lati- 
tude.” 

“ You now say, as often as once or twice a week, wit- 
ness ; on reflection, will you swear to even that ? ” 

“ Well, if not twice, I am sure I can say once." 

Dunscomb was satisfied with this answer, which went to 
show that the witness could reply a little at random, and 
was not always certain of his facts, when pressed. 

“ Are you certain that Dorothy Goodwin is dead ?” 

“ I suppose I am as certain as any of the neighbors.” 

“ That is not an answer to my question. Will you, and 
do you swear on your oath, that Peter Goodwin, the per- 
son named in the indictment, is actually dead ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


291 


“ I’ll swear that I think So.” 

“ That is not what I want. You see those skeletons — 
will you say, on your oath, that you know them to be the 
skeletons of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin ? ” 

“ I’ll swear that I believe it.” 

“That does not meet the question. Do you know it ? ” 

“ How can I know it ? I’m not a doctor or a surgeon. 
No, I do not absolutely know it. Still, I believe that one 
is the skeleton of Peter Goodwin, and the other the skele- 
ton of his wife.” 

“ Which do you suppose to be the skeleton of Peter 
Goodwin ? ” 

This question puzzled the witness not a little. To the 
ordinary eye, there was scarcely any difference in the ap- 
pearance of these sad remains ; though one skeleton had 
been ascertained by actual measurement to be about an 
inch and a half longer than the other. This fact was 
known to all in Biberry ; but it was not easy to say which 
was which, at a glance. The witness took the safe course, 
therefore, of putting his opinion altogether on a different 
ground. 

“ I do not pretend to tell one from the other,” was the 
answer. “ What I know of my own knowledge is this, and 
this only. I knew Peter and Dorothy Goodwin ; knew the 
house they lived in ; know that the house has been burned 
down, and that the old folks are not about their old ha’nts. 
The skeletons I never saw until they were moved from 
the place where they tell me they were found ; for I was 
busy helping to get the articles saved under cover.” 

“ Then you do not pretend to know which skeleton is 
that of a man, or which that of a woman ? ” 

This question was ingeniously put, and had the effect 
to make all the succeeding witnesses shy on this point ; 
for it created a belief that there was a difference that 
might be recognized by those who are skilled in such 
matters. The witness assented to the view of Dunscomb ; 
and having been so far sifted as to show he knew no more 
than all the rest of the neighbors, he was suffered to 
quit the stand. The result was that very little was actu- 
ally established by means of this testimony. It was evi- 
dent that the jury was now on the alert, and not disposed 
to receive all that was said as gospel. 

The next point was to make out all the known facts of 
the fire, and of the finding of the skeletons. The two wit- 
nesses just examined had seen the close of the fire, had 


292 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


heard of the skeletons, but had said very little more to the 
purpose. Dunscomb thought it might be well to throw in 
a hint to this effect in the present state of the case, as he 
now did by remarking — 

“ I trust that the district attorney will see precisely 
where he stands. All that has yet been shown by legal 
proof are the facts that there were such persons as Peter 
and Dorothy Goodwin ; facts we are not at all disposed 
to deny • ” 

“ And that they have not appeared in the flesh since 
the night of the fire ?” put in Williams. 

“ Not to the witnesses ; but, to how many others, does 
not appear.” 

“ Does the learned counsel mean to set up the defence 
that Goodwin and his wife are not dead ? ” 

“ It is for the prosecution to show the contrary affirma- 
tively. If it be so, it is fair to presume they can do it. 
All I now contend for, is the fact that we have no proof 
as yet that either is dead. We have proof that the house 
was burned ; but we are now traversing an indictment for 
murder, and not that for arson. As yet, it strikes me, 
therefore, nothing material has been shown.” 

“ It is certainly material, Mr. Dunscomb, that there 
should have been such persons as the Goodwins, and that 
they have disappeared since the night of the fire ; and 
this much is proved, unless you impeach the witnesses,” 
observed the judge. 

“Well, sir, that much we are not disposed to deny. 
There were such persons as the Goodwins, and they 
have disappeared from the neighborhood. We believe 
that much ourselves.” 

“ Crier, call P.eter Bacon.” 

Bacon came forward, dressed in an entire new suit of 
clothes, and appearing much more respectable than was 
his wont. This man’s testimony was almost word for word 
as it has already been given in the coroner’s inquest. He 
established the facts of the fire, about which there could 
be no prudent contention indeed, and of the finding of the 
skeletons ; for he had been one of those who aided 
in first searching the ruins for the remains. This man 
told his story in an extremely vulgar dialect, as we have 
had already occasion to show ; but in a very clear, dis- 
tinct manner. He meant to tell the truth, and succeeded 
reasonably well ; for it does not occur to all who have the 
same upright intentions to effect their purposes as well 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


293 


as he did himself. Dunscomb’s cross-examination was 
very brief ; for he perceived it was useless to attempt to 
deny what had been thus proved. 

“Jane Pope,” called out the district attorney. “ Is Mrs. 
Jane Pope in court ? ” 

The Widow Pope was on the spot, and ready and will- 
ing to answer. She removed her bonnet, took the oath, 
and was shown to the seat with which it is usual to ac- 
commodate persons of her sex. 

“ Your name/’ said Dunscomb, holding his pen over the 
paper. 

“ Pope — Jane Pope since my marriage ; but Jane Ander- 
son from my parents.” 

Dunscomb listened politely, but recorded no more than 
the appellation of the widow. Mrs. Pope now proceeded 
to tell her story, which she did reasonably well, though not 
without a good deal of unnecessary amplitude, and some 
slight contradictions. It was her intention, also, to tell 
nothing but the truth ; but persons whose tongues move 
as nimbly as that of this woman’s do not always know ex- 
actly what they do say. Dunscomb detected the contra- 
dictions ; but he had the tact to see their cause, saw that 
they were not material, and wisely abstained from con- 
founding whatever of justice there was in the defence with 
points that the jury had probably sufficient sagacity to see 
were of no great moment. He made no note, therefore, of 
these little oversights, and allowed the woman to tell her 
whole story uninterrupted. When it came to his turn to 
cross-examine, however, the duty of so doing was not neg- 
lected. 

“You say, Mrs. Pope, that you had often seen the stock- 
ing in which Mrs. Goodwin kept her gold. Of what ma- 
terial was that stocking ?” 

“Wool — yes, of blue woollen yarn. A stocking knit by 
hand, and very darny.” 

“ Should you know the stocking, Mrs. Pope, were you 
to see it again ? ” 

“ I think I might. Dolly Goodwin and I looked over 
the gold together more than once ; and the stocking got 
to be a sort of acquaintance.” 

“ Was this it ?” continued Dunscomb, taking a stocking 
of the sort described from Titnms, who sat ready to pro- 
duce the article at the proper moment. 

“ If it please the court,” cried Williams, rising in haste, 
and preparing eagerly to interrupt the examination. 


2 9 4 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR . 


“ Your pardon, sir,” put in Dunscomb, with great self- 
command, but very firmly — “ words must not be put into 
the witness’s mouth, nor ideas into her head. She has 
sworn, may it please your honor, to a certain stocking, 
which stocking she described in her examination in 
chief ; and we now ask her if this is that stocking. All 
this is regular, I believe ; and I trust we are not to be in- 
terrupted.” 

“ Go on, sir,” said the judge ; “ the prosecution wiil not 
interrupt the defence. But time is very precious.” 

“ Is this the stocking ? ” repeated Dunscomb. 

The woman examined the stocking, looking inside and 
out, turning it over and over, and casting many a curious 
glance at the places that had been mended. 

“ It’s dreadful darny, isn’t it?” she said, looking inquir- 
ingly at the counsellor. 

“ It is as you see, ma’am. I have made no alteration 
in it.” 

“ I declare I believe this is the very stocking.” 

“ At the proper time, your honor, we shall show that this 
is not the stocking, if indeed there ever was such a stock- 
ing at all,” said Timms, rolling up the article in question, 
and handing it to the clerk to keep. 

“You saw a certain piece of gold, you say,” resumed 
Dunscomb, “ which piece of gold I understand you to say 
was afterward found in the pocket of Mary Monson. Will 
you have the goodness to say whether the piece of gold 
which you saw in Mrs. Goodwin’s possession is among 
these ” — showing a dozen coins ; “ or whether one resem- 
bling it is here ? ” 

The woman was greatly puzzled. She meant to be 
honest ; had told no more than was true, with the excep- 
tion of the little embellishments that her propensity to 
imagine and talk rendered almost unavoidable ; but, for 
the life of her, she could not distinguish the piece of money, 
or its counterpart. After examining the coins for several 
minutes she frankly admitted her ignorance. 

“ It is scarcely necessary to continue this cross-examina- 
tion,” said Dunscomb, looking at his watch. “I shall ask 
the court to adjourn, and to adjourn over until morning. 
We have reached the hour for lighting candles ; but we 
have agents out in quest of most important witnesses ; and 
we ask the loss of this evening as a favor. It can make 
no great difference as to the length of the trial ; and the 
jurors will be all the fresher for a good night’s rest.” 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR . 


295 


The court acquiesced, and allowed of the adjournment, 
giving the jury the usual charge about conversing or mak- 
ing up their opinions until they had heard the whole tes- 
timony ; a charge that both Williams and Timms took very 
good care to render of no use in several instances, or as 
regarded particular individuals. 

A decided impression was made in favor of the prisoner 
by Mrs. Pope’s failure to distinguish the piece of money. 
In her examination in chief she saw no difficulty in recog- 
nizing the single piece then shown to her, and which was 
the Dutch coin actually found in Mary Monson’s purse ; 
but, when it was put among a dozen others resembling it, 
more or less, she lost all confidence in herself, and, to a 
certain point, completely broke down as a witness. But 
Dunscomb saw that the battle had not yet in truth begun. 
What had passed was merely the skirmishing of light 
troops, feeling the way for the advance of the heavy col- 
umns and the artillery that were to decide the fortunes of 
the day. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

’Tis the wisest way, upon all tender topics, to be silent ; for he who 
takes upon himself to defend a lady’s reputation, only publishes her favors 
to the world. — Cumberland. 

The wing of Horton’s Inn, that contained the room of 
Dunscomb, was of considerable extent, having quite a 
dozen rooms in it, though mostly of the diminutive size of 
an American tavern bedroom. The best apartment in it, 
one with two windows, and of some dimensions, was that 
appropriated to the counsellor. The doctor and his party 
had a parlor, with two bedrooms ; while, between these 
and the room occupied by Dunscomb, was that of the troub- 
lesome guest — the individual who was said to be insane. 
Most of the remainder of the wing, which was much the 
most quiet and retired portion of the house, was used for 
a better class of bedrooms. There were two rooms, how- 
ever, that the providence of Horton and his wife had set 
apart for a very different purpose. These were small par- 
lors, in which the initiated smoked, drank, and played. 

Nothing sooner indicates the school in which a man has 
been educated, than his modes of seeking amusement. 
One who has been accustomed to see innocent relaxation 


296 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


innocently indulged, from childhood up, is rarely tempted 
to abuse those habits which have never been associated, in 
his mind, with notions of guilt, and which, in themselves, 
necessarily imply no moral delinquency. Among the lib- 
eral, cards, dancing, music, all games of skill and chance 
that can interest the cultivated, and drinking, in modera- 
tion and of suitable liquors, convey no ideas of wrong-do- 
ing. As they have been accustomed to them from early 
life, and have seen them practised with decorum and a due 
regard to the habits of refined society, there is no reason 
for concealment or consciousness. On the other hand, an 
exaggerated morality, which has the temerity to enlarge 
the circle of sin beyond the bounds for which it can find 
any other warranty than its own metaphysical inferences, 
is very apt to create a factitious conscience, that almost in- 
variably takes refuge in that vilest of all delinquency — direct 
hypocrisy. This, we take it, is the reason that the reaction 
of ultra godliness so generally leaves its subjects in the 
mire and slough of deception and degradation. The very 
same acts assume different chaiacters, in the hands of these 
two classes of persons ; and that which is perfectly inno- 
cent with the first, affording a pleasant, and in that respect 
a useful relaxation, becomes low, vicious, and dangerous 
with the other, because tainted with the corrupting and 
most dangerous practices of deception. The private wing 
of Horton’s Inn, to which there has been allusion, furnished 
an example in point of what we mean, within two hours 
of the adjournment of the court. 

In the parlor of Mrs. McBrain, late Dunscomb’s Widow 
Updyke, as he used to call her, a little table was set in the 
middle of the room, at which Dunscomb himself, the doc- 
tor, his new wife and Sarah were seated, at a game of whist. 
The door was not locked, no countenance manifested either 
a secret consciousness of wrong, or an overweening desire 
to transfer another’s money to its owner’s pocket, although 
a sober sadness might be said to reign in the party, the 
consequence of the interest all took in the progress of the 
trial. 

Within twenty feet of the spot just mentioned, and in 
the two little parlors already named, was a very different 
set collected. It consisted of the rowdies of the bar, per- 
haps two-thirds of the reporters in attendance on Mary 
Monson’s trial, several suitors, four or five country doctors, 
who had been summoned as witnesses, and such other 
equivocal gentry as might aspire to belong to a set as 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


297 


polished and exclusive as that we are describing. We 
will first give a moment’s attention to the party around the 
whist-table in the parlor first described. 

“ I do not think the prosecution has made out as well 
to-day, all things considered, as it was generally supposed 
it would,” observed McBrain. “ There is the ace of trumps, 
Miss Sarah, and if you can follow it with the king, we shall 
get the odd trick.” 

“ I do not think I shall follow it with anything,” answered 
Sarah, throwing down her cards. “ It really seems heart- 
less to be playing whist, with a fellow-creature of our ac- 
quaintance on trial for her life.” 

“I have not half liked the game,” said the quiet Mrs. 
McBrain, “ but Mr. Dunscomb seemed so much bent on a 
rubber, I scarce knew how to refuse him.” 

“Why, true enough, Tom,” put in the doctor, “this is 
all your doings, and if there be anything wrong about it, 
you will have to bear the blame.” 

“ Play anything but a trump, Miss Sarah, and we get the 
game. You are quite right, Ned ” — throwing down the 
pack — “ the prosecution has not done as well as I feared 
they might.- That Mrs. Pope as a witness I dreaded, but 
her testimony amounts to very little in itself; and what 
she has said has been pretty well shaken by her ignorance 
of the coin.” 

“ I really begin to hope the unfortunate lady may be 
innocent,” said the doctor. 

“Innocent!” exclaimed Sarah — “surely, Uncle Ned, 
you can never have doubted it ! ” 

McBrain and Dunscomb exchanged significant glances, 
and the latter was about to answer, when, raising his eyes, 
he saw a strange form glide stealthily into the room, and 
place itself in a dark corner. It was a short, sturdy figure 
of a man, with all those signs of squalid misery in his 
countenance and dress that usually denote mental imbe- 
cility. He seemed anxious to conceal himself, and did 
succeed in getting more than half of his person beneath a 
shawl of Sarah’s ere he was seen by any of the party but 
the counsellor. It at once occurred to the latter that this 
was the being who had more than once disturbed him by 
his noise, and who Mrs. Horton had pretty plainly inti- 
mated was out of his mind ; though she had maintained a 
singularly discreet silence, for her, touching his history 
and future prospects. She believed “ he had been brought 
to court by his friends, to get some order, or judgment— 


298 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


maybe his visit had something to do with the new Code, 
about which Squire Dunscomb said so many hard things.” 

A little scream from Sarah soon apprised all in the room 
of the presence of this disgusting-looking object. She 
snatched away her shawl, leaving the idiot, or madman, or 
whatever he might be, fully exposed to view, and retreated 
herself behind her uncle’s chair. 

“ I fancy you have mistaken your room, my friend,” said 
Dunscomb, mildly. “This, as you see, is engaged by a 
card-party — I take it you do not play.” 

A look of cunning left very little doubt of the nature of 
the malady with which this unfortunate being was afflicted. 
He made a clutch at the cards, laughed, then drew back, 
and began to mutter. 

“She won’t let me play,” mumbled the idiot — “she 
never would." 

“Whom do you mean by she?” asked Dunscomb. “Is 
it any one in this house — Mrs. Horton, for instance ?” 

Another cunning look, with a shake of the head, for an 
answer in the negative. 

“ Be you Squire Dunscomb, the great York lawyer?” 
asked the stranger, with interest. 

“ Dunscomb is certainly my name — though I have not 
the pleasure of knowing yours.” 

“ I haven’t got any name. They may ask me from morn- 
ing to night, and I won’t tell. She won’t let me.” 

“ By she you again mean Mrs. Horton, I suppose ?” 

“No, I don’t. Mrs. Horton’s a good woman ; she gives 
me victuals and drink.” 

“ Tell us whom you do mean, then ? ” 

“ Won’t you tell ? ” 

“ Not unless it be improper to keep the secret. Who is 
this she 2 ” 

“ Why, she." 

“ Ay, but who ? ” 

“ Mary Monson. If you’re the great lawyer from York, 
and they say you be, you must know all about Mary Mon- 
son.” 

“ This is very extraordinary ! ” said Dunscomb, regard- 
ing his companion in surprise. “ I do know something 
about Mary Monson, but not all about her. Can you tell 
me anything ? ” 

Here the stranger advanced a little from his corner, lis- 
tened, as if fearful of being surprised, then laid a finger on 
his lip, and made the familiar sign for “ hush.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 299 

\ 

“ Don’t let her hear you ; if you do you may be sorry 
for it. She’s a witch ! ” 

“ Poor fellow ! she seems, in truth, to have bewitched 
you, as I dare say she may have done many another man.” 

“ That has she ! I wish you’d tell me what I want to 
know, if you really be the great lawyer from York.” 

“ Put your questions, my friend ; I’ll endeavor to answer 
them.” 

“Who set fire to the house ? Can you tell me that?” 

“That is a secret yet to be discovered— do you happen 
to know anything about it?” 

“ Do I ? I think I do. Ask Mary Monson ; she can tell 
you.” 

All this was so strange that the whole party now gazed 
at each other in mute astonishment; McBrain bending his 
looks more intently on, the stranger, in order to ascertain 
the true nature of the mental malady with which he was 
obviously afflicted. In some respects the disease wore the 
appearance of idiocy ; then again there were gleams of 
the countenance that savored of absolute madness. 

“You are of opinion, then, that Mary Monson knows 
who set fire^ to the house ?” 

.“ Sartain, she does. I know, too, but I won’t tell. They 
might want to hang me, as well as Mary Monson, if I told. 
I know too much to do anything so foolish. Mary has 
said they would hang me if I tell. I don’t want to be 
hanged a bit.” 

A shudder from Sarah betrayed the effect of these words 
on the listeners, and Mrs. McBrain actually rose with the 
intention of sending for her daughter, who w r as then in 
the jail, consoling the much-injured prisoner, as Anna 
Updyke firmly believed her to be, by her gentle but firm 
friendship. A word from the doctor, however, induced 
her to resume her seat, and to await the result with a 
greater degree of patience. 

“ Mary Monson would seem to be a very prudent coun- 
sellor,” rejoined Dunscomb. 

“Yes; but she isn’t the great counsellor from York — 
you be that gentleman, they tell me.” 

“ May I ask who told you anything about me ? ” 

“ Nancy Horton — and so did Mary Monson. Nancy 
said if I made so much noise I should disturb the great 
counsellor from York, and he might get me hanged for it. 
I was only singing hymns, and they say it is good for 
folks in trouble to sing hymns. If you be the great coun- 


3°o 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


sellor from York I wish you would tell me one thing. 
Who got the gold that was in the stocking ? ” 

“Do you happen to know anything of that stocking, or 
of the gold ?” 

“ Do I — ” looking first over one shoulder, then over 
the other, but hesitating to proceed. “Will they hang me 
if I tell ? ” 

“ I should think not, though I can only give you an 
opinion. Do not answer, unless it be agreeable to you.” 

“I want to tell — I want to tell #//, but I’m afeard. I 
don’t want to be hanged.” 

“Well, then, speak out boldly, and I will promise that 
you shall not be hanged. Who got the gold that was in 
the stocking ? ” 

“ Mary Monson. That’s the way she has got so much 
money.” 

“ I cannot consent to leave Anna another instant in 
such company ! ” exclaimed the anxious mother. “ Go, 
McBrain, and bring her hither at once.” 

“You are a little premature,” coolly remarked Duns- 
comb. “This is but a person of weak mind, and too much 
importance should not be attached to his words. Let us 
hear what further he may have to say.” 

It was too late. The footstep of Mrs. Horton was 
heard in the passage, and the extraordinary being van- 
ished as suddenly and as stealthily as he had entered. 

“What can be made of this?” McBrain demanded, 
when a moment had been taken to reflect. 

“ Nothing, Ned ; I care not if Williams knew it all. 
The testimony of such a man cannot be listened to for an 
instant. It is wrong in us to give it a second thought, 
though I perceive that you do. Half the mischief in the 
world is caused by misconceptions, arising from a very nu- 
merous family of causes, one of which is a disposition to 
fancy a great deal from a little. Do you pronounce the 
man an idiot — or is he a madman ? ” 

“ He does not strike me as absolutely either. There is 
something peculiar in his case; and I shall ask permis- 
sion to look into it. I suppose we are done with the cards 
— shall I go for Anna ? ” 

The anxious mother gave a ready assent, and McBrain 
went one way, while Dunscomb retired to his room, not 
without stopping before his neighbor’s door, whom he 
heard muttering and menacing within. 

All this time the two little parlors mentioned were 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


301 


receiving their company. The law is doubtless a very 
elevated profession, when its practice is on a scale com- 
mensurate with its true objects. It becomes a very differ- 
ent pursuit, however, when its higher walks are abandoned, 
to choose a path amid its thickets and quagmires. Per- 
haps no human pursuit causes a wider range of character 
among its votaries than the practice of this profession. 
In the first place,. the difference, in an intellectual point 
of view, between the man who sees only precedents, and 
the man who sees the principles on which they are found- 
ed, is as marked as the difference between black and 
white. To this great distinction in mind is to be added 
another that opens a still wider chasm, the results of prac- 
tice, and which depends on morals. While one set of 
lawyers turn to the higher objects of their calling, declin- 
ing fees in cases of obviously questionable right, and 
.struggle to maintain their honesty in direct collision with 
the world and its temptations, another, and much the 
largest, falls readily into the practices of their craft— the 
word seems admirably suited to the subject — and live on, 
encumbered and endangered not only by their own natu- 
ral vices, but greatly damaged by those that in a manner 
they adopt, as it might be ex officio. This latter course is 
unfortunately that taken by a vast number of the mem- 
bers of the bar all over the world, rendering them loose in 
their social morality, ready to lend themselves and their 
talents to the highest bidder, and causing them to be at 
first indifferent, and in the end blind, to the great features, 
of right and wrong. These are the moralists who advance 
the doctrine that “ the advocate has a right to act as his 
client would act;” while the class first named allow that 
“the advocate has a right to do what his, client Ms a right 
to do,” and no more. 

Perhaps there was. not a single member of the profes- 
sion present that night in the two little parlors Mrs. 
Horton, who recognized the latter of these rufesfeor who 
did not, at need, practise on the former. has been 
already said, these were the rowdies of the ©ukes Countv 
bar. They chewed, smoked, drank, and* played, each and 
all coarsely. To things that were innocent in them.se Ives, 
they gave the aspect of guilt by their own manners., life 
doors. were kept locked; even, amid; their coarsest jokes, 
their ribaldry, their oaths, that were often revolting andi 
painfully frequent, there was an uneasy watchfulness, as 
ift they feared detection.. There was nothing frank and 


3°2 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


manly in the deportment of these men. Chicanery, mam 
agement, double-dealing, mixed up with the outbreakings 
of a coarse standard of manners, were visible in all they 
said or did, except, perhaps, . at those moments when 
hypocrisy was paying its homage to virtue. This hypoc- 
risy, however, had little, or at most a very indirect connec- 
tion with anything religious. The offensive offshoots 
of the exaggerations that were so abounding among us 
half a century since, are giving place to hypocrisy of an- 
other school. The homage that was then paid to princi- 
ples, however erroneous and forbidding, is now paid to 
the ballot-boxes. There was scarcely an individual around 
those card tables, at which the play was so obviously for 
the stakes as to render the whole scene revolting, wdio 
would not have shrunk from having his amusements 
known. It would seem as if conscience consulted taste. 
Everything was coarse and offensive ; the attitudes, oaths, 
conversation, liquors, and even the manner of drinking 
them. Apart from the dialogue, little was absolutely 
done that might not have been made to lose most of its 
repulsiveness, by adopting a higher school of manners ; 
but of this these scions of a noble stock knew no more 
than they did of the parent stem. 

It is scarcely necessary to say that both Williams and 
Timms were of this party. The relaxation was, in fact, in 
conformity with their tastes and practices ; and each of 
these excrescences of a rich and beneficent soil counted on 
the meetings in Mrs. Horton’s private rooms, as the more 
refined seek pleasure in the exercise of their tastes and 
habits.. 

“ I say, Timms,” bawled out an attorney of the name of 
Crooks, “ you play’d a trump, sir — all right — go ahead — first 
rate — good play, that — ours dead. -I say, Timms, you’re 
going to save Mary Monson’s neck. When I came here, I 
thought she was a case ; but the prosecution is making out 
miserably.” 

“What do you say to that, Williams?” put in Crooks’s 
partner, who was smoking, playing, and drinking, with oc- 
casional “asides ” of swearing, all, as might be, at the same 
time. “ I trump that, sir, by your leave — what do you say 
to that, Williams ? ” 

“I say that this is not the court; and trying such a cause 
once ought to satisfy a reasonable man.” 

“ He’s afraid of showing his hand, which I am not,” put 
in another, exposing his cards as he spoke. “Williams 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


303 


always has some spare trumps, however, to get him out of 
all his difficulties.” 

“ Yes, Williams has a spare trump, and there it is, giving 
me the trick,” answered the saucy lawyer, as coolly as if he 
had been engaged in an inferior slander-suit. “ I shall be 
at Timms pretty much by the same process to-morrow.” 

“ Then you will do more than you have done to-day, 
Master Williams. This Mrs. Jane Pope maybe a trump, 
but she is not the ace. I never knew a witness break down 
more completely.” 

“ We’ll find the means to set her up again— I think that 
knave is yours, Green — yes, I now see my game, which is 
to take it with the queen — very much, Timms, as we shall 
beat you to-morrow. I keep my trump card always for 
the last play, you know.” 

“Come, come, Williams,” put in the oldest member of 
the bar, a men whose passions were cooled by time, and 
who had more gravity than most of his companions. 
“ Come, come, Williams, this is a trial for a life, and jok- 
ing is a little out of place.” 

“ I believe there is no juror present, Mr. Marvin, which 
is all the reserve the law exacts.” 

“Although the law may tolerate this levity, feeling will 
not. The prisoner is a fine young woman ; and for my 
part, though I wish to say nothing that may influence any 
one’s opinion, I have heard nothing yet to justify an in- 
dictment, much less a conviction.” 

Williams laid down his cards, rose, stretched his arms, 
gaped, and taking Timms by the arm, he led the latter 
from the room. Not content with this, the wary limb of 
the law continued to move forward, until he and his com- 
panion were in the open air. 

“ It is always better to talk secrets outside than inside of 
a house,” observed Williams, as soon as they were at a safe 
distance from the inn-door. “It is not too late yet, Timms 
— you must see how weak we are, and how bunglingly the 
District Attorney has led off. Half those jurors will sleep 
to-night with a feeling that Mary Monson has been hardly 
dealt by.” 

“They may do the same to-morrow night, and every 
night in the month,” answered Timms. 

“ Not unless the arrangement is made. We have testi- 
mony enough to hang the governor.” 

“ Show us your list of witnesses, then, that we may judge 
of this for ourselves.” 


304 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“That would never do. They might be bought off for 
half the money that is necessary to take us out of the field. 
Five thousand dollars can be no great matter for such a 
woman and her friends.” 

“ Whom do you suppose to be her friends, Williams ? If 
you know them you are better informed than her own 
counsel.” 

“Yes, and a pretty point that will make when pressed 
against you. No, no, Timms; your client has been ill- 
advised, or she is unaccountably obstinate. She has friends, 
although you may not know who they are ; and friends 
who can, and who would very promptly help her, if she 
would consent to ask their assistance. Indeed, I suspect 
she has cash enough on hand to buy us off.” 

“ Five thousand dollars is a large sum, Williams, and is 
not often to be found in Biberry jail. But if Mary Mon- 
son has these friends, name them, that we may apply for 
their assistance.” 

“ Harkee, Timms ; you are not a man so . ignorant of 
what is going on in the world, as to require to be told the 
letters of the alphabet. You know that there are exten- 
sive associations of rogues in this young country, as well 
as in most that are older.” 

“What has that to do with Mary Monson and our case?” 

“ Everything. This Mary Monson has been sent here 
to get at the gold of the poor old dolt, who has not been 
able to conceal her treasure after it was hoarded. She 
made a sub-treasury of her stocking, and exhibited the 
coin, like any other sub-treasurer. Many persons like to 
look at it, just to feast their eyes.” 

“ More to finger it ; and you are of the number, Wil- 
liams ! ” 

“ I admit it. The weakness is general in the profession, 
I believe. But this is idle talk, and we are losing very 
precious time. Will you, or will you not, apply again to 
your client for the money ? ” 

“Answer me, candidly, a question or two, and I will do 
as you desire. You know, Williams, that we are old friends, 
and never had any serious difficulty since we have been 
called to the bar.” 

“Oh, assuredly,” answered Williams, with an ironical 
smile, that it might have been fortunate for the negotia- 
tion the obscurity concealed from his companion ; “excel- 
lent friends from the beginning, Timms, and likely to con- 
tinue so, I trust, to the last. Men who know each other as 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3°5 


well as you and I ought to be on the best of terms. For 
my part, I never harbored a wrangle at the bar in my 
mind five minutes after I the left the court. Now for your 
question.” 

“ You surely do not set down Mary Monson as the stool- 
pigeon of a set of York thieves ! ” 

“ Who, or what else can she be, Mr. Timms ? Better ed- 
ucated, and belonging to an ‘upper ten ’ in villany, but of 
a company of rogues. Now, these knaves stand by each 
other much more faithfully than the body of the citizens 
stand by the law ; and the five thousand will be forthcom- 
ing for the asking.” 

“Are you serious in wishing me to believe you think my 
client guilty ? ” 

Here Williams made no bones of laughing outright. 
It is true that he suppressed the noise immediately, lest 
it should attract attention ; but laugh he did, and with 
right good will. 

“ Come, Timms, you have asked your question, and I 
leave you to answer it yourself. One thing I will say, how- 
ever, in the way of admonition, which is this — we shall 
make out such a case against her to-morrow as would hang 
a governor, as I have already told you.” 

“I believe you’ve done your worst already — why not let 
me know the names of your witnesses ?” 

“ You know the reason. We wish the whole sum our- 
selves, and have no fancy to its being scattered all over 
Dukes. I give you my honor, Timms — and you know 
what that is — I give you my honor that we hold this testi- 
mony in reserve.” 

“In which case the district attorney will bring the wit- 
nesses on the stand ; and we shall gain nothing, after all, 
by your withdrawal.” 

“ The district attorney has left the case very much to me. 
I have prepared his brief, and have taken care to keep 
to myself enough to turn the scales. If I quit, Mary Mon- 
son will be acquitted — if I stay, she will be hanged. A 
pardon for her will be out of the question — she is too high 
among the ‘upper ten ’ to expect that — besides, she is not 
an anti-renter.” 

“ I wonder the thieves do not combine, as well as other 
folks, and control votes !” 

“ They do — these anti-renters belong to the gangs, and 
have already got their representatives in high places. 
They are ‘land pirates,’ while your client goes for old 


3 o6 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

stockings. The difference in principle is by no means im- 
portant, as any clear-headed man may see. It is getting 
late, Timms.” 

“ I cannot believe that Mary Monson is the sort of per- 
son you take her for ! Williams, I’ve always looked upon 
you, and treated you, as a friend. You may remember 
how I stood by you in the Middlebury case ?” 

“ Certainly — you did your duty by me in that matter, 
and I have not forgot it.” 

The cause alluded to was an action for a “ breach of 
promise,” which, at one time, threatened all of Williams’s 
“future usefulness,” as it is termed ; but which was put to 
sleep in the end by means of Timms’s dexterity in manag- 
ing the “outdoor” points of a difficult case. 

“Well, then, be my friend in this matter. I will be hon- 
est with you, and acknowledge that, as regards my client, 
I have had — that is provided she is acquitted, and her char- 
acter comes out fair — that I have had — and still have, for 
that matter — what ” 

“Are called ‘ulterior views.’ I understand you, Timms, 
and have suspected as much these ten days. A great deal 
depends on what you consider a fair character. Taking 
the best view of her situation, Mary Monson will have been 
triedTor murder and arson.” 

“ Not if acquitted of the first. I have the district at- 
torney’s promise to consent to a nolle prosequi on the last 
indictment, if we traverse the first successfully.” 

“ In which case Mary Monson will have been tried for 
murder only,” returned Williams, smiling. “ Do you really 
think, Timms, that your heart is soft enough to receive 
and retain an impression as deep as that made by the seal 
of the court ? ” 

“If I thought, as you do, that my client is or has been 
connected with thieves, and burglars, and counterfeiters, I 
would not think of her for a moment as a wife. But there 
is a vast difference between a person overtaken by sudden 
temptation and one who sins on calculation, and by regu- 
lar habit. Now, in my own case, I sometimes act wrong 
— yes, I admit as much as that ” 

“ It is quite unnecessary,” said Williams, dryly. 

“ It is not according to Christian doctrine to visit old 
offences on a sinner’s head, when repentance has washed 
away the crime.” 

“ Which means, Timms, that you will marry Mary 
Monson, although she may be guilty ; provided always 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


307 


that two very important contingencies are favorably dis- 
posed of.” 

“ What contingencies do you allude to, Williams ? I 
know of none.” 

“One is, provided she will have you ; the other is, pro- 
vided she is not hanged.” 

“As to the first, I have no great apprehension ; women 
that have been once before a court, on a trial for a capital 
offence, are not very particular. On my side, it will be 
easy enough to persuade the public that, as counsel in a 
most interesting case, I became intimately acquainted with 
her virtues, touched by her misfortunes, captivated by her 
beauty and accomplishments, and finally overcome by her 
charms. I don’t think, Williams, that such an explanation 
would fail of its effect, before a caucus even. Men are al- 
ways favorably disposed to those they think worse off than 
they are themselves. A good deal of capital is made on 
that principle.” 

“ I do not know that it would. Nowadays the elections 
generally turn more on public principles than on private 
conduct. The Americans are a most forgiving people, un- 
less you tell them the truth. That they will not pardon.” 

“ Nor any other nation, I fancy. Human natur’ re- 
volts at it. But that ” — snapping his fingers — “for your 
elections ; it is the caucuses that I lay myself out to 
meet. Give me the nomination , and I am as certain of 
my seat as, in the old countries, a first-born is to his fath- 
er’s throne.” 

“ It is pretty safe, as a rule, I allow ; but nominations 
sometimes fail.” 

“Not when regular, and made on proper principles. A 
nomination is almost as good as popularity.” 

“ Often better ; for men are just asses enough to work 
in the collar of party, even when overloaded. But all this 
time the night is wearing away. If I go into court in the 
morning it will be too late. This thing must be settled at 
once, and that in a very explicit manner.” 

“ I wish I knew what you have picked up concerning 
Mary Monson’s early life ! ” said Timms, like a man strug- 
gling with doubt. 

“ You have heard the rumor as well as myself. Some 
say she is a wife already; while others think her a rich 
widow. My opinion you know ; I believe her to be the 
stool-pigeon of a York gang, and no better than she should 
be.” 


3°8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


This was plain language to be addressed to a lover ; and 
Williams meant it to be so. He had that sort of regard 
for Timms which proceeds from a community in practices, 
and was disposed to regret that a man with whom he had 
been so long connected, either as an associate or an an- 
tagonist, should marry a woman of the pursuits that he 
firmly believed marked the career of Mary Monson. 

The gentlemen of the bar are no more to be judged by 
appearances than the rest of mankind. They will wrangle, 
and seem to be at sword’s points with each other, at one 
moment ; when the next may find them pulling together 
in harmony in the next case on the calendar. It was under 
this sort of feeling that Williams had a species of friend- 
ship for his companion. 

“ I will try, Williams,” said the last, turning toward the 
jail. “ Yes, I 'will make one morp trial.” 

“ Do, my good fellow — and, Timms — remember one 
thing ; you can never marry a woman that has been 
hanged.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

The time is precious ; I’ll about it straight. 

— Ear l of Essex. 

The jail presented a very different scene. A solemn still- 
ness reigned in its gallery ; and even good Mrs. Gott had 
become weary with the excitement of the day, and had re- 
tired to rest. A single lamp was burning in the cell ; and 
dark forms were dimly visible in the passage, without the 
direct influence of its rays. Two were seated, while a third 
paced the stone but carpeted pavement, with a slow and 
quiet step. The first were the shadowy forms of Anna 
Updyke and Marie Moulin; the last, that of Mary Mon- 
son. For half an hour the prisoner had been on her knees, 
praying for strength to endure a burden that surpassed 
her expectations ; and, as is usual with those who look 
above for aid, more especially women, she was reaping the 
benefit of her petition. Not a syllable had she uttered, 
however, since quitting the cell. Her voice, soft, melo- 
dious, and lady-like, was now heard for the first time. 

“ My situation is most extraordinary, Anna,” she said;. 
“ it proves almost too much for my strength ! This has 
been a terrible day, calm as I may have appeared ; and I 


T HE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


309 

fear that the morrow will be still harder to be borne. There 
is an expression about the eyes of that man, Williams, that 
both alarms and disgusts me. I am to expect in him a 
most fiery foe.” 

“ Why, then, do you not escape from scenes for which 
you are so unsuited, and leave this saucy Williams to him- 
self, and his schemes of plunder ? ” 

“ That would not do. Several sufficient reasons exist for 
remaining. Were I to avail myself of the use of the keys 
I possess, and quit the jail not to return, good Mrs. Gott 
and her husband would probably both be ruined. Although 
they are ignorant t of what money and ingenuity have done 
for me, it would be difficult to induce the world to believe 
them innocent. But a still higher reason for remaining is 
the vindication of my own Character.” 

“No one will think of confounding^// with Mary Mon- 
son ; and by going abroad, as you say it is your intention 
to do, you would effectually escape from even suspicion.” 

“ You little know the world, my dear. I see that all the 
useful lessons I gave you, as your school-mamma, are al- 
ready forgotten. The six years between us in age have 
given me an experience that tells me to do nothing of the 
sort. Nothing is so certain to follow us as a bad name ; 
though the good one is easily enough forgotten. As Mary 
Monson, I am indicted for these grievous crimes ; as Mary 
Monson will 1 be acquitted of them. I feel an affection for 
the character, and shall not degrade it by any act as base 
as that of flight.” 

“ Why not, then, resort to the other means you possess, 
and gain a speedy triumph in open court ?” 

As Anna put this question, Mary Monson came beneath 
the light and stopped. Her handsome face was in full 
view, and her friend saw an expression on it that gave her 
pain. It lasted only a moment ; but that moment was 
long enough to induce Anna to wish she had not seen it. 
On several previous occasions this same expression liad 
rendered her uneasy ; but the evil look was soon forgot- 
ten in the quiet elegance of manners that borrowed charms 
from a countenance usually as soft as the evening sky in 
September. Ere she resumed her walk, Mary Monson 
shook her head in dissent from the proposition of her 
friend, and passed on, a shadowy but graceful form, as she 
went down the gallery. 

“ It would be premature,” she said, “ and I should fail 
of my object. I will not rob that excellent Mr. Dunscomb 


3 xo 


THE W. AYS OF THE HOUR. 


of his honest triumph. How calm and gentlemanlike he 
was to-day ; yet how firm and prompt, when it became 
necessary to show these qualities.” 

“ Uncle Tom is all that is good ; and we love him as we 
would love a parent.” 

A pause succeeded, during which Mary Monson walked 
along the gallery once, in profound thought. 

“ Yours promises to be a happy future, my dear,” she 
said. “ Of suitable ages, tempers, stations, country— yes, 
country ; for an American woman should never marry a 
foreigner ! ” 

Anna'Updyke did not reply; and a silence succeeded 
that was interrupted by the rattling of a key in the outer 
door. 

“ It is your new father, Anna ; come to see you home. 
Thank you, kind-hearted and most generous-minded girl. 
I feel-the sacrifices that you and your friend are making 
in my behalf, and shall carry the recollection of them to 
the grave. On her, I had no claims at all ; and on you, 
but those that are very slight. You have been to me, in- 
deed, most excellent friends, and a great support when 
both were most needed. Of my own sex, and of the same 
social level, I do not now see how I should have got on 
without you. Mrs. Gott is kindness and good-nature 
themselves ; but she is so different from us in a thousand 
things, that I have often been pained by it. In our inter- 
course with you, how different ! Knowing so much, you 
pry into nothing. Not a question, not a look to embarrass 
me, and with a perfect and saint-like reliance on my in- 
nocence ; were I a sister, your support could not be more 
warm-hearted or firm.” 

After a short pause, in which this singular young woman 
smiled, and appeared to be talking to herself, she con- 
tinued, after kissing her companion most affectionately for 
good-night, and walking with her as far as the door of the 
gallery, where it had been announced that the doctor was 
waiting for his step-daughter : 

“ I wish I knew whether the same faith goes through the 
connection — Mr. John Wilmeter?” 

“Oh! He is persuaded of your entire innocence. It 
was he who excited so much interest in me, on your be- 
half, before I had the least idea of our having ever met 
before.” 

“ He is a noble-hearted young man, and has many ex- 
cellent qualities — a little romantic, but none the worse for 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 ri 


that, my dear, as you will find in the end. Alas ! alas ! 
Those marriages that are made over a rent-roll, or an in- 
ventory, need a great deal of something very different from 
what they possess to render them happy ! Mr. Wilmeter 
has told me that no evidence could make him believe in my 
guilt. There is a confidence that might touch a woman’s 
heart, Anna, did circumstances admit of such a thing. I 
like that Michael Millington, too ; the name is dear to me, 
as is the race of which he comes. No matter ; the world 
va son train , let us regret and repine as we may. And Uncle 
Tom, Anna — what do you think of his real opinion ? Is it 
in my favor or not ?” 

Anna Updyke had detected in Dunscomb a disposition 
to doubt, and was naturally averse to communicating a 
fact so unpleasant to her friend. Kissing the latter affec- 
tionately, she hurried away to meet McBrain, already wait- 
ing for her without. In quitting the dwelling of the build- 
ing annexed to the jail, the doctor and Anna met Timms 
hurrying forward to seek an interview with his client be- 
fore she retired to rest. An application at once obtained 
permission for the limb of the law to enter. 

“ I have come, Miss Mary,” as Timms now called his 
client, “ on what I fear will prove a useless errand; but 
which I have thought it my duty to see performed, as your 
best friend, and one of your legal advisers. You have 
already heard what I had to say on the subject of a certain 
proposal of the next of kin to withdraw from the prosecu- 
tion, which will carry with him this Williams, with whom 
I should think you would, by this time, be heartily dis- 
gusted. I come now to say that this offer is repeated with 
a good deal of emphasis, and that you have still an oppor- 
tunity of lessening the force that is pressing on your in- 
terests by at least one-half. Williams may well count for 
more than half of the vigor and shrewdness of what is 
doing for the State in your case.” 

“The proposal must be more distinctly made, and you 
must let me have a clear view of what is expected from me, 
Mr. Timms, before I can give any reply,” said Mary Mon- 
son. “ But you may wish to be alone with me before you 
are more explicit. I will order rav woman to go into the 
cell.” 

“ It might be more prudent were we to go into the cell 
ourselves, and leave your domestic outside. These gal- 
leries carry sounds like ear-trumpets, and we never know 
who may be our next neighbor in a jail.” 


3 12 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


Mary Monson quietly assented to the proposal, calling 
to her woman in French to remain outside, in the dark, 
while she profited by the light of the lamp in the cell. 
Timms followed, and closed the door. 

In size, form, and materials, the cell of Mary Monson 
was necessarily like that of every other inmate of the jail. 
Its sides, top, and bottom, were of massive stones ; the two 
last being flags of great dimensions. But taste and money 
had converted even this place into an apartment that was 
comfortable in all respects but that of size. Two cells 
opening on the section of gallery that the consideration of 
Mrs. Gott had caused to be screened off, and appropriated 
to the exclusive use of the fair prisoner, one had been fur- 
nished as a sleeping apartment, while that in which Timms 
was now received had more the air of a sort of boudoir. It 
was well carpeted, like all the rest of what might be termed 
the suite ; and had a variety of those little elegancies that 
women of cultivated tastes and ample means are almost 
certain to gather about them. The harp which had oc- 
casioned so much scandal, as well as a guitar, stood near 
by, and chairs, of different forms and various degrees of 
comfort, crowded the room, perhaps ro superfluity. As 
this was the first time Timms had been admitted to the 
cell, he was all eyes, gazing about him at the numerous 
signs of wealth it contained with inward satisfaction. It 
was a minute after he was desired to be seated before he 
could comply, so lively was the curiosity to be appeased. 
It was during this minute that Marie Moulin lighted four 
candles, that were already arranged in bronzed candle- 
sticks, making a blaze of light for that small room. These 
candles were of spermaceti, the ordinary American substi- 
tute for wax. Nothing that he then saw, or had ever seen 
in his intercourse with his client, so profoundly impressed 
Timms as this luxury of light. Accustomed himself to 
read and write by a couple of small inferior articles in tal- 
low, when he did not use a lamp, there seemed to be some- 
thing regal to his unsophisticated imagination in this dis- 
play of brilliancy. 

Whether Mary Monson had a purpose to answer in giv- 
ing Timms so unusual a reception, we shall leave the 
reader to discover by means of his own sagacity; but cir- 
cumstances might well lead one to the conclusion that she 
had. There was a satisfied look, as she glanced around 
the cell and surveyed its arrangements, that possibly led 
fairly enough to such an inference. Nevertheless, her de- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 T 3 


meanor was perfectly quiet, betraying none of the fidget- 
ing uneasiness of an underbred person, lest all might not 
be right. Every arrangement was left to the servant ; and 
when Mane Moulin finally quitted the cell and closed the 
door behind her, every thought of the apartment and what 
it contained seemed to vanish from the mind of her ex- 
traordinary mistress. 

“ Before you proceed to communicate the purpose of 
your visit, Mr. Timms,” Mary Monson said, “ I shall ask 
permission to put a few questions of my own, touching the 
state of our cause. Have we gained or lost by this day’s 
proceedings ?” 

“ Most clearly gained, as every man at the bar will con- 
firm by his opinion.” 

“That has been my own way of thinking; and I am 
glad to hear it corroborated by such competent judges. I 
confess the prosecution does not seem to me to show the 
strength it really possesses. This Jane Pope made a miser- 
able blunder about the piece of coin.” 

“ She has done the other side no great good, certainly.” 

“ How stands the jury, Mr. Timms ?” 

Although this question was put so directly, Timms heard 
it with uneasiness. Nor did he like the expression of 
Mary Monson’s eyes, which seemed to regard him with a 
keenness that might possibly imply distrust. But it was 
necessary to answer, though he did so with caution, and 
with a due regard to his own safety. 

“ It is pretty well,” he said, “ though not quite as much 
opposed to capital punishment as I had hoped for. We 
challenged off one of the sharpest chaps in the county, 
and have got in his place a man who is pretty much under 
my thumb.” 

“ And the stories — the reports — have they been well cir- 
culated ? ” 

“A little too well, I’m afraid. That concerning your 
having married a Frenchman, and having run away from 
him, has gone through all the lower towns of Dukes like 
wildfire. It has even reached the ears of Squire Dunscomb, 
and will be in the York papers to-morrow.” 

A little start betrayed the surprise of the prisoner ; and 
a look accompanied it which would seem to denote dissat- 
isfaction that a tale put in circulation by herself, as it would 
now appear, had gone quite so far. 

“ Mr. Dunscomb ! ” she repeated, musingly. “ Anna Up- 
dyke’s Uncle Tom ; and one whom such a story may very 


3^4 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


well set thinking. I wish it had not reached him , of all 
men, Mr. Timms.” 

“ If I may judge of his opinions by some little acts and 
expressions that have escaped him, I am inclined to think 
he believes the story to be, in the main, true.” 

Mary Monson smiled ; and, as was much her wont when 
thinking intensely, her lips moved ; even a low muttering 
became audible to a person as near as her companion then 
was. 

“ It is now time, Mr. Timms, to set the other story in 
motion,” she said, quickly. “ Let one account follow the 
other ; that will distract people’s belief. We must be active 
in this matter.” 

“ There is less necessity for our moving in the affair, as 
Williams has got a clew to it, by some means or other*; and 
his men will spread it far and near, long before the cause 
goes to the jury.” 

“That is fortunate ! v exclaimed the prisoner, actually 
clapping her pretty gloved hands together in delight. “A 
Story as terrible as that must react powerfully, when its 
falsehood comes to be shown. I regard that tale as the 
cleverest of all our schemes, Mr. Timms.” 

“Why — yes — that is — I think, Miss Mary, it may be set 
down as the boldest." 

“ And this saucy Williams, as you call him, has got hold 
of it already, and believes it true ? ” 

“ It is not suprising ; there are so many small and prob- 
able facts accompanying it.” 

“ I suppose you know what Shakespeare calls such an 
invention, Mr. Timms?” said Mary Monson, smiling. 

“ I am not particularly acquainted with that author, 
ma’am ; I know there was such a writer, and that he was 
thought a good deal of, in his day ; but I can’t say I have 
ever read him.” 

The beautiful prisoner turned her large, expressive blue 
eyes on her companion with a gaze of wonder ; but her 
breeding prevented her from uttering what she certainly 
thought and felt. 

“Shakespeare is a writer very generally esteemed,” she 
answered, after one moment of muttering, and one moment 
to control herself ; “ I believe he is commonly placed at 
the head of our English literature, if not at the head of' 
that of all times and nations — Homer, perhaps, excepted.” 

“What ! higher, do you think, Miss Mary, than Black- 
stone and Kent ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


315 

“ Those are authors of whom I know nothing, Mr. Timms ; 
but now, sir, I will listen to your errand here to-night.” 

“ It is the old matter. Williams has been talking to me 
again, touching the five thousand dollars.” 

“ Mr. Williams lias my answer. If five thousand cents 
would buy him off, he should not receive them from me.” 

This was said with a frown ; and then it was that the ob- 
server had an opportunity of tracing, in a face otherwise so 
lovely, the lines that indicate self-will, and a spirit not 
easily controlled. Alas, that woman should ever so mis- 
take their natural means to influence and guide, as to have 
recourse to the exercise of agents that they rarely wield 
with effect, and ever with a sacrifice of womanly character 
and womanly grace. The person who would draw the sex 
from the quiet scenes that they so much embellish, to 
mingle in the strifes of the world ; who would place them 
in stations that nature has obviously intended men should 
occupy, is not their real friend, any more than the weak 
adviser who resorts to reputed specifics when the knife 
alone can effect a cure. The Creator intended woman for 
a “help-meet,” and not for the head of the family circle ; 
and most fatally ill-judging are the laws that would fain 
disturb the order of a domestic government, which is 
directly derived from divine wisdom as from divine benevo- 
lence. 

“ I told him as much, Miss Mary,” answered Timms ; 
“ but he does not seem disposed to take ‘ no ’ for an answ T er. 
Williams has the true scent for a dollar.” 

“Lam quite certain of an acquittal, Mr. Timms; and 
having endured so much, and hazarded so much, I do not 
like to throw away the triumph of my approaching vic- 
tory. There is a powerful excitement in my situation ; 
and I like excitement to weakness, perhaps. No, no ; my 
success must not be tarnished by any such covert bargain. 
I will not listen to the proposal for an instant ! ” 

“ I understand that the raising of the sum required 
would form no particular obstacle to the arrangement ? ” 
asked Timms, in a careless sort of way, that was intended 
to conceal the real interest he took in the reply. 

“ None at all. The money might be in his hands before 
the court sits in the morning, but it never shall -be, as 
coming from me. Let Mr. Williams know this definitely ; 
and tell him to do his worst.” 

Timms was a little surprised, and a good deal uneasy at 
this manifestation of a spirit of defiance, which could pro- 


3 i6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


duce no good, and which might be productive of evil. 
While he was delighted to hear, for the fourth or fifth time, 
how easy it would be for his fair client to command a sum 
as large as that demanded, he secretly determined not “to 
let the man who had sent him on his present errand know 
the temper in which it had been received. Williams was 
sufficiently dangerous as it was ; and he saw all the hazard 
of giving him fresh incentives to increase his exertions. 

“And now, as this matter is finally disposed of, Mr. 
Timms — for I desire that it may not be again mentioned to 
me,” resumed the accused, “ let us say a word more on the 
subject of our new report. Your agent has set on foot a 
story that I belong to a gang of wretches who are. com- 
bined to prey on society ; and that, in this character, I 
came into Dukes, to carry out one of its nefarious 
schemes ? ” 

“ That is the substance of the rumor we have started at 
your own desire ; though I could wish it were not quite so 
strong, and that there were more time for the reaction.” 

“ The strength of the rumor is its great merit ; and, as 
for time, we have abundance for our purposes, Reaction 
is the great power of popularity, as I have heard again 
and again. It is always the most effective, too, at the turn 
of the tide. Let the public once get possessed with the 
notion that a rumor so injurious has been in circulation at 
the expense of one in my cruel condition, and the current 
of feeling will set the other way in a torrent that nothing 
can arrest ! ” 

“ I take the idea, Miss Mary, which is well enough for 
certain cases, but a little too hazardous for this. Suppose 
it should be ascertained that this report came from us ? ” 

“ It never can be, if the caution I directed was observed. 
You have not neglected my advice, Mr. Timms ? ” 

The attorney had not ; and great had been his surprise 
at the ingenuity and finesse manifested by this singular 
woman, in setting afloat a report that would certainly act 
to her injury, unless arrested and disproved at a moment 
most critical in her future fate. Nevertheless, in obedi- 
ence to Mary Monson's positive commands, this very bold 
measure had been undertaken ; and Timms was waiting 
with impatience for the information by means of which he 
was to counteract these self-inflicted injuries, and make 
them the instruments of good on the reaction. 

If that portion of society which takes delight in gossip 
could be made to understand the real characters of those 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 T 7 


to whom they commit the control of their opinions, not to 
say principles, there would be far more of reserve and self- 
respect observed in the submission to this social evil than 
there is at present. Malice, the inward impulses of the 
propagators of a lie, and cupidity, are at the bottom of 
half the tales that reach our ears ; and in thpse cases in 
which the world in its ignorance fancies it has some au- 
thority for what it says, it as often happens that some hid- 
den motive is at the bottom of the exhibition as the one 
which seems so apparent. There are a set of vulgar vices 
that may be termed the “ stereotyped,” they lie so near the 
surface of human infirmities. They who are most subject 
to their influence always drag these vices first into the 
arena of talk ; and fully one-half of that of this nature 
which we hear, has its origin as much in the reflective nat- 
ure of the gossip’s own character, as in any facts truly con- 
nected with the acts of the subjects of his or her stories. 

But Mary Monson was taking a far higher flight than 
the circulation of an injurious rumor. She believed her- 
self to be putting on foot a master-stroke of policy. In 
her intercourse with Timms, so much was said of the power 
of opinion, that she had passed hours, nay days, in the 
study of the means to control and counteract it. Whence 
she obtained her notion of the virtue of reaction it might 
not be easy to say, but her theory was not without its 
truth, and it is certain that her means of producing it 
were of remarkable simplicity and ingenuity. 

Having settled the two preliminaries of the rumor and 
of Williams’s proposition, Timms thought the moment fav- 
orable to making a demonstration in his own affairs. Love 
he did not yet dare to propose openly, though he had now 
been, for some time, making covert demonstrations toward 
the tender passion. In addition to the motive of cupidity, 
one of great influence with such a man, Timms’s heart, such 
as it was, had really yielded to the influence of a beauty, 
manners, accomplishments, and information, all of a class 
so much higher than he had been accustomed to meet with, 
as to be subjects of wonder with him, not to say of adora- 
tion. This man had his affections as well as another ; and, 
while John Wilmeter had submitted to a merely passing 
inclination, as much produced by the interest he took in 
an unknown female’s situation as by any other cause, poor 
Timms had been hourly falling more and more in love. It 
is a tribute to nature that this passion can be, and is, felt 
by all. Although a purifying sentiment, the corrupt and 


3 i8 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


impure can feel its power, and, in a greater or less degree, 
submit to its influence, though their homage may be taint- 
ed by the grosser elements that are so largely mixed up 
with the compound of their characters. We may have oc- 
casion to show hereafter how far the uncouth attorney of 
Mary Monson succeeded in his suit with his fair client. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

I challenge envy, 

Malice, and all the practices of hell, 

To censure all the actions of my past 

Unhappy life, and taint me if they can . — The Orphan . 

It is to be presumed that Timms found the means to 
communicate to Williams the rejection of the latter’s offer, 
before the court met next morning. It is certain that the 
counsel associated with the attorney-general manifested 
unusual zeal in the performance of duties that most men 
would have found unpleasant, if not painful, and that he 
was captious, short, and ill-natured. Just as Mary Monson 
came within the bar, a letter was put into the hands of 
Dunscomb, who quietly broke the seal, and read it twice, 
as the observant Timms fancied ; then put it in his pocket, 
with a mien so undisturbed that no mere looker-on would 
have suspected its importance. The letter was from Mil- 
lington, and it announced a general want of success in his 
mission. The whereabouts of M. de Larocheforte could 
not be ascertained ; and those who knew anything about 
his movements were of opinion that he was travelling in the 
West, accompanied by his fair, accomplished, and affluent 
young consort. None of those who would naturally have 
heard of such an event, had it occurred, could say there 
had ever been a separation between the French husband 
and the American wife. Millington, himself, had never 
seen his kinswoman, there being a coolness of long stand- 
ing between the two branches of the family, and could give 
little or no information on the subject. In a word, he 
could discover nothing to enable him to carry out the clew 
obtained in the rumor ; while, on the other hand, he found 
a certain set, who occupied themselves a good deal with 
intelligence of that sort, were greatly disposed to believe 
the report, set on foot by herself, that Mary Monson was a 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 T 9 


stool-pigeon of a gang of marauders, and doubtless guilty 
of everything of which she had been accused. Millington 
would remain in town, how r ever, another day, and endeavor 
to push his inquiries to some useful result. Cool, clear- 
headed, and totally without romance, Dunscomb knew 
that a better agent than his young friend could not be 
employed, and was fain to wait patiently for the discov- 
eries he might eventually succeed in making. In the- 
meantime the trial proceeded. 

“ Mr. Clerk,” said his honor, “ let the jury be called.” 

This was done, and Mary Monson’s lips moved, while a 
lurking smile lighted her countenance, as her eyes met the 
sympathy that was expressed in the countenances of several 
of the grave men who had been drawn as arbiters, in her 
case, between life and death. To her it was apparent that 
her sex, her youth, perhaps her air and beauty, stood her 
friends, and that she might largely count on the compas- 
sion of that small but important body of men. One of her 
calculations had succeeded to the letter. The tale of her 
being a stool-pigeon had been very actively circulated, 
with certain additions and embellishments that it was very 
easy to disprove ; and another set of agents had been hard 
at work, all the morning, in brushing away such of the 
collateral circumstances as had, at first, been produced to 
confirm the main story, and which, in now being pulled to 
pieces as of no account, did not fail to cast a shade of the 
darkest doubt over the whole rumor. All this Mary Mon- 
son probably understood, and understanding, enjoyed ; a 
vein of wild wilfulness certainly running through her 
character, leading in more directions than one. 

“ I hope there will be no delay on account of witnesses,” 
observed the judge. “ Time is very precious.” 

“ We are armed at all points, your honor, and intend to 
bring the matter to an early conclusion,” answered Wil- 
liams, casting one of -those glances at the prisoner which 
had obtained for him the merited sobriquet of “ saucy.” 
“ Crier, call Samuel Burton.” 

Timms fairly started. This was breaking ground in a 
new spot, and was producing testimony from a source that 
he much dreaded. The Burtons had been the nearest 
neighbors of the Goodwins, and were so nearly on a social 
level with them, as to live in close and constant communi- 
cation. These Burtons consisted of the man, his wife, and 
three maiden sisters. At one time, the last had conversed 
much on the subject of the murders ; but, to Timms’s great 


3 20 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


discontent, they had been quite dumb of late. This had 
prevented his putting in practice a method of anticipating 
testimony, that is much in vogue, and which he had de- 
liberately attempted with these sometime voluble females. 
As the reader may not be fully initiated in the mysteries 
of that sacred and all-important master of the social rela- 
tions, the law, we shall set forth the manner in which 
justice is often bolstered, when its interests are cared for 
by practitioners of the Timms and Williams school. 

No sooner is it ascertained that a particular individual 
has a knowledge of an awkward fact, than these worthies 
of the bar set to work to extract the dangerous information 
from him. This is commonly attempted, and often effected, 
by inducing the witness to relate what he knows, and by 
leading him on to make statements that, on being sworn to 
in court, will either altogether invalidate his testimony, or 
throw so much doubt on it as to leave it of very little value. 
As the agents employed to attain this end are not very 
scrupulous, there is great danger that their imaginations 
may supply the defects in the statements, and substitute 
words and thoughts that the party never uttered. It is so 
easy to mistake another’s meaning, with even the best 
intentions, that we are not to be surprised if this should 
seriously happen when the disposition is to mislead. With 
the parties to suits, this artifice is often quite successful, 
admissions being obtained, or supposed to be obtained, 
that they never, for an instant, intended to make. In the 
States where speculation has cornered men, and left them 
loaded with debt, these devices of the eaves-droppers and 
suckers are so common, as to render their testimony no 
immaterial feature in nearly every cause of magnitude that 
is tried. In such a state of society it is, indeed, unsafe 
for a suitor to open his lips on his affairs, lest some one 
near him be employed to catch up his words, and carry 
them into court with shades of meaning gathered from his 
own imagination. 

At first, Timms was under the impression that the Bur- 
tons were going to sustain the defence, and he was placing 
himself on the most amiable footing with the females, three 
of whom might very reasonably be placed within the cate- 
gory of matrimony with this rising lawyer ; but it was not 
long ere he ascertained that Williams was getting to be in- 
timate, and had proved to be a successful rival. Davis, 
the nephew and heir of the Goodwins, was a single man, 
too, and it is probable that his frequent visits to the dwell- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 21 


ing of the Burtons had a beneficial influence on his own 
interests. Let the cause be what it might, the effect was 
clearly to seal the lips of the whole family, not a member 
of which could be induced, by any art practised by the 
agents of Timms, to utter a syllable on a subject that now 
really seemed to be forbidden. When, therefore, Burton 
appeared on the stand, and was sworn, the two counsel 
for the defence waited for him to open his lips, with a pro- 
found and common interest. 

Burton knew the deceased, had lived all his life near 
them, was at home the night of the fire, went to assist the 
old people, saw the two skeletons, had no doubt they were 
the remains of Peter Goodwin and his wife ; observed the 
effects of a heavy blow across the foreheads of each, the 
same that was still to be seen ; inferred that this blow had 
destroyed them, or so far stunned them as to leave them 
incapable of escaping from the fire. 

This witness was then questioned on the subject of the 
stocking, and Mrs. Goodwin’s hoard of money. He had 
seen the stocking but once, had often heard it mentioned 
by his sisters ; did not think his wife had ever alluded to it ; 
did not know the amount of gold, but supposed it might 
be very considerable; saw the bureau examined, and knew 
that the stocking could not be found. In a word, his tes- 
timony in chief went generally to sustain the impression 
that prevailed relative to the murders, though it is unnec- 
essary to repeat it in this form, as the cross-examination 
will better explain his statements and opinions. 

“Mr. Burton,” said Dunscomb, “you knew the Good- 
wins well ? ” 

“Very well, sir. As well as near neighbors generally 
know each other.” 

“ Can you swear that these are the skeletons of Peter 
and Dorothy Goodwin ? ” 

“ I can swear that I believe them to be such — have no 
doubt of the fact.” 

“ Point out that which you suppose to be the skeleton 
of Peter Goodwin.” 

This request embarrassed the witness. In common with 
all around him, he had no other clew to his facts than the 
circumstances under which these vestiges, of mortality had 
been found, and he did not know what ought to be his reply. 

“ I suppose the shortest of the skeletons to be Peter 
Goodwin’s, and the longest that of his wife,” he at length 
answered. “ Peter was not as tall as Dorothy.” 


21 


3 22 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“Which is the shortest of these remains ?” 

“That I could not say, without measuring. I know 
that Goodwin was not as tall as his wife by half an inch, 
for I have seen them measured.” 

“ Then you would say that, in your opinion, the longest 
of these two skeletons is that of Dorothy Goodwin, and 
the shortest that of her husband ? ” 

“Yes, sir; that is my opinion — formed to the best of my 
knowledge. I have seen them measured.” 

“Was this measurement accurate ?” 

“Very much so. They used to dispute about their 
height, and they measured several times, when I was by ; 
generally in their stocking feet, and once barefoot.” 

“The difference being half an inch in favor of the 
wife ?” 

“Yes, sir, as near as could be ; for I was umpire more 
than once.” 

“ Did Peter Goodwin and his wife live happily to- 
gether ? ” 

“Tolerable — much as other married folks get along.” 

“ Explain what you mean by that.” 

“Why, there’s ups and downs, I suppose, in all families. 
Dorothy was high-tempered, and Peter was sometimes 
cross-grained.” 

“ Do you mean that they quarrelled ? ” 

“They got r’iled with each other, now and then.” 

“ Was Peter Goodwin a sober man ? ” 

The witness now appeared to be bothered. He looked 
around him, and meeting everywhere with countenances 
which evidently reflected “yes,” he had not the moral 
courage to run counter to public opinion, and say “no.” 
It is amazing what a tyrant this concentration* of minds 
gets to be over those who are not very clear-headed them- 
selves, and who are not constituted, morally, to resist its 
influence. It almost possesses a power to persuade these 
persons not to put faith in their own senses, and disposes 
them to believe what they hear, rather than what they have 
seen. Indeed, one effect is to cause them to see with the 
eyes of others. As the “ neighbors,” those inquisitors who 
know so much of persons of their association and intimacy, 
and so little of all others, very generally fancied Peter a 
sober man, Burton scarce knew what to answer. Circum- 
stances had made him acquainted with the delinquency of 
the old man, but his allegations would not be sustained 
were he to speak the whole truth, since Peter had sue- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 2 3 


ceeded in keeping his infirmity from being generally 
known. To a man like the witness, it was easier to sacri- 
fice the truth than to face a neighborhood. 

“ I suppose he was much as others,” answered Burton, 
after a delay that caused some surprise. “ He was human, 
and had a human natur’. Independence days, and other 
rejoicings, I’ve known him give in more than the temper- 
ance people think is quite right ; but I shouldn’t say he 
was downright intemperate.” 

“ He drank to excess, then, on occasions ? ” 

“ Peter had a very weak head, which was his greatest 
difficulty.” 

“Did you ever count the money in Mrs. Goodwin’s 
stocking ? ” 

“I never did. There was gold and paper; but how 
much I do not know,” 

“ Did you see any strangers in or about the house of 
the Goodwins, the morning of the fire ? ” 

“Yes ; two strange men were there, and were active in 
helping the prisoner out of the window, and afterward in 
getting Out the furniture. They were very particular in 
saving Mary Monson’s property.” 

“Were those strangers near the bureau ? ” 

“Not that I know. I helped carry the bureau out my- 
self ; and I was present afterward in court when it was 
examined for the money. We found none.” 

“ What became of those strangers ? ” 

“ I cannot tell you. They were lost to me in the con- 
fusion.” 

“ Had you ever seen them before ? ” 

“ Never.” 

“Nor since?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Will you have the goodness to take that rod, and tell 
me what is the difference in length between the two skele- 
tons ? ” 

“ I trust, your honor, that this is testimony which will 
not be received,” put in Williams. “ The fact is before the 
jury, and they can take cognizance of it for themselves.” 

Dunscomb smiled as he answered — 

“ The zeal of the learned gentleman runs ahead of his 
knowledge of the rules of evidence. Does he expect a 
jury to measure the remains ; or are we to show the fact 
by means of witnesses ? ” 

“ This is a cross-examination ; and the question is one in 


3 2 4 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


chief. The witness belongs to the defence, if the question 
is to be put at all.” 

“ I think not, your honor. The witness has testified, in 
chief, that he believes these remains to be those of Peter 
and Dorothy Goodwin ; he has further said, on his cross- 
examination, that Dorothy was half an inch taller than 
Peter ; we now wish to put to the test the accuracy of the 
first opinion, by comparing the two facts — his knowledge 
of the difference by the former measurement as compared 
with the present. It has been said that these two skeletons 
are very nearly of a length. We wish the truth to be seen.” 

“The witness will answer the question,” said the judge. 

“ I doubt the power of the court to compel a witness to 
obtain facts in this irregular mode,” observed the perti- 
nacious Williams. 

“ You can note your exceptions, brother Williams,” re- 
turned the judge, smiling; “although it is not easy to see 
with what useful consequences. If the prisoner be ac- 
quitted, you can hardly expect to try her again ; and, if 
convicted, the prosecution will scarcely wish to press any 
objection.” 

Williams, who was as much influenced by a bull-dog 
tenacity as by any other motive, now submitted ; and Bur- 
ton took the rod and measured the skeletons, an office he 
might have declined, most probably, had he seen fit. The 
spectators observed surprise in his countenance ; and he 
was seen to repeat the measurement, seemingly with more 
care. 

“ Well, sir, what is the difference in the length of those 
skeletons ? ” inquired Dunscomb. 

“ I make it about an inch and a half, if these marks are 
to be relied on,” was the slow, cautious, well-considered 
reply. 

“ Do you now say that you believe these skeletons to be 
the remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin ? ” 

“Whose else can they be? They were found on the 
spot where the old couple used to sleep.” 

“ I ask you to answer my question ; I am not here to an- 
swer yours. Do you still say that you believe these to be 
the skeletons of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin ? ” 

“ I am a good deal nonplussed by this measurement — 
though the flesh, and skin, and muscles, may have made a 
considerable difference in life.” 

“ Certainly,” said Williams, with one of his withering 
sneers — sneers that had carried many a cause purely by 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 2 5 


their impudence and sarcasm — “ Every one knows how 
much more muscle a man has than a woman. It causes 
the great difference in their strength. A bunch of muscles, 
more or less, in the heel, would explain all this, and a 
great deal more.” 

“ How many persons dwelt in the house of Goodwin at 
the time of the fire ? ” demanded Dunscomb. 

“They tell me Mary Monson was there, and I saw her 
there during the fire ; but I never saw her there before.” 

“ Do you know of any other inmate besides the old 
couple and thb prisoner?” 

“ I did see a strange woman about the house for a week 
or two before the fire, but I never spoke to her. They tell 
me she was High Dutch.” 

“ Never mind what they tell you, Mr. Burton ” — observed 
the judge— “ testify only to what you knoiv” 

“ Did you see this strange woman at the fire, or after the 
fire ?” continued Dunscomb. 

“ I can’t say that I did. I remember to have looked 
round for her, too ; but I did not find her.” 

“ Was her absence spoken of in the crowd at the time ?” 

“ Something was said about it ; but we were too much 
taken up with the old couple to think a great deal of this 
stranger.” 

This is an outline of Burton’s testimony ; though the 
cross-examination was continued for more than an hour, 
and Williams had him again examined hi chief. That in- 
trepid practitioner contended that the defence had made 
Burton its own witness in all that related to the measure- 
ment of the skeletons ; and that he had a right to a cross- 
examination. After all this contest, the only fact of any 
moment elicited from the witness related to the difference 
in stature between Goodwin and his wife, as has been 
stated already. 

In the meantime, Timms ascertained that the last report 
set on foot by his own agents, at the suggestion of Mary 
Monson herself, was circulating freely ; and, though it 
was directly opposed to the preceding rumor, which had 
found great favor with the gossips, this extravagant tale 
was most greedily swallowed. We conceive that those 
persons who are so constituted, morally, as to find pleasure 
in listening to the idle rumors that float about society, are 
objects of pity; their morbid desire to talk of the affairs of 
others being a disease that presses them down beneath the 
level they might otherwise occupy. With such persons, 


3 26 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


the probabilities go lor nothing ; anti they are more in- 
clined to give credit to a report that excites their interest, 
by running counter to all the known laws of human ac- 
tions, than to give faith to its contradiction, when sus- 
tained by every reason that experience sustains. Thus 
was it on the present occasion. There was something so 
audacious in the rumor that Mary Monson belonged , to a 
gang of rogues in town, and had been sent especially- to 
rob the Goodwins, that vulgar curiosity found great delight 
in it ; the individual who heard the report usually sending 
it on with additions of his own, that had their authority 
purely in the workings of a dull imagination. It is in that 
way that this great faculty of the mind is made to perform 
a double duty ; which in the one case is as pure and en- 
nobling, as in the other it is debasing and ignoble. The 
man of a rich imagination, he who is capable of throw- 
ing the charms of poetical feelipg around the world in 
which we dwell, is commonly a man of truth. The high 
faculty which he possesses seems, in such cases, to be em- 
ployed in ferreting out facts which, on proper occasions, 
he produces distinctly, manfully, and logically. On the 
other hand, there is a species of subordinate imagination 
that is utterly incapable of embellishing life with charms 
of any sort, and which delights in the false. This last is 
the imagination of the gossip. It obtains some modicum 
of facts, mixes it with large quantities of stupid fiction, 
delights in the idol it has thus fashioned out of its own 
head, and sends it abroad to find worshippers as dull, as 
vulgar-minded, and as uncharitable, as itself. 

Timms grew frightened at the success of his client’s 
scheme, and felt the necessity of commencing the reaction 
at once, if the last were to have time in which to produce 
its effect. He had been warmly opposed to the project in 
the commencement, and had strenuously resisted its adop- 
tion ; but Mary Monson would not listen to his objections. 
She even threatened to employ another, should he fail her. 
The conceit seemed to have taken a strong hold on her 
fancy, and all the wilful ness of her character had come in 
aid of this strange scheme. The thing was done ; and it 
now remained to prevent its effecting the mischief it was 
so well adapted to produce. 

All this time the fair prisoner sat in perfectly composed 
silence, listening attentively to everything that was said, 
and occasionally taking a note. Timms ventured to sug- 
gest that it might be better were she to abstain from doing 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR . 


3 2 7 


the last, as it gave her the air of knowing too much, and 
helped to deprive her of the interesting character of an un- 
protected female ; but she turned a perfectly deaf ear to 
his admonitions, hints, and counsel. He was a safe adviser, 
nevertheless, in matters of this sort ; but Mary Monson 
was not accustomed so much to follow the leadings of 
others as to submit to her own impulses. 

The sisters of Burton were next examined. They 
proved all the admitted facts; testified as to the stocking 
and its contents, and two of them recognized the piece of 
gold which was said to have been found in Mary Monson’s 
purse as that which had once been the property of Dorothy 
Goodwin. On this head, the testimony of each was full, 
direct, and explicit. Each had often seen the piece of 
gold, and they had noted a very small notch or scratch 
near the edge, which notch or scratch was visible on the 
piece now presented in court. The cross-examination 
failed to shake this testimony, and well it might, for every 
word these young women stated was Strictly true. The 
experiment of placing the piece of coin among other simi- 
lar coin, failed with them. They easily recognized the 
true piece by the notch. Timms was confounded ; Duiis- 
comb looked very grave ; Williams raised his nose higher 
than ever, and Mary Monson was perfectly surprised. 
When the notch was first mentioned, she arose, advanced 
far enough to examine the coin, and laid her hand on her 
forehead, as if she pondered painfully on the circumstance. 
The testimony that this was the identical piece found in 
her purse was very ample, the coin having been sealed up 
and kept by the coroner, who had brought it into court ; 
while it must now be admitted that a very strong case was 
made out to show that this foreign coin had once been 
among the hoards of Dorothy Goodwin. A very deep im- 
pression was made by this testimony on all who heard it, 
including the court, the bar, the jury, and the audience. 
Every person present, but those who w r ere in the immedi- 
ate confidence of the accused, was firmly convinced of 
Mary Monson’s guilt. Perhaps the only other exceptions 
to this mode of thinking were a few experienced prac- 
titioners, who, from long habit, knew the vast importance 
of hearing both sides before they made up their minds in 
a matter of so much moment. 

We shall not follow Dunscomb through his long and 
arduous cross-examination of the sisters of Burton, but 
confine ourselves to a few of the more pertinent of the in- 


3 28 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


terrogatories that he put to the eldest, and which were duly 
repeated when the other two were placed on the stand. 

“Will you name the persons dwelling in the house of the 
Goodwins at the time of the fire ?” asked Dunscomb. 

“There were the two old folks, this Mary Monson, and 
a German woman named Yetty (Jette) that aunt Dorothy 
took in to wait on her boarders.” 

“ Was Mrs. Goodwin your aunt, then ?” 

“No ; we wasn’t related no how ; but, being such near 
neighbors, and she so old, we just called her aunt by way 
of a compliment.” 

“ I understand that,” said Dunscomb, arching his brows 
— “I am called uncle, and by very charming young per- 
sons, on the same principle. Did you know much of this 
German ? ” 

“ I saw her almost every day for the time she was there, 
and talked with her as well as I could ; but she spoke very 
little English. Mary Monson was the only person who 
could talk with her freely ; she spoke her language.” 

“ Had you much acquaintance with the prisoner at the 
bar ? ” 

“ I was some acquainted, as a body always is when they 
live such near neighbors.” 

“Were your conversations with the prisoner frequent, 
or at all confidential?” 

“To own the truth, I never spoke to her in my life. 
Mary Monson was much too grand for me.” 

Dunscomb smiled ; he understood how common it was 
for persons in this country to say they are “well acquaint- 
ed ” with this or that individual when their whole knowl- 
edge is derived from the common tongue. An infinity of 
mischief is done by this practice ; but the ordinary Ameri- 
can who will admit that he lives near any one without hav- 
ing an acquaintance with him, if acquaintance is supposed 
to confer credit, is an extraordinary exception to a very 
general rule. The idea of being “ too grand ” was of a 
nature to injure the prisoner and to impair her rights, and 
Dunscomb deemed it best to push the witness a little 
on this point. 

“ Why did you think Mary Monson was ‘ too grand ’ for 
you ?” he demanded. 

“ Because she looked so.” . 

“ How did she look ? In what way does or did her looks 
indicate that she was, or thought herself ‘ too grand ’ for 
your association ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


329 

“Is this necessary, Mr. Dunscomb?” demanded the 
judge. 

“ I beg your honor will sutler the gentleman to proceed,” 
put in Williams, cocking his nose higher than ever, and 
looking round the court-room with an air of intelligence 
that the great York counsellor did not like. “ It is an in- 
teresting subject ; and we, poor ignorant Dukes County 
folks, may get useful ideas, to teach us how to look ‘ too 
grand ! ’ ” 

Dunscomb felt that he had made a false step ; and he 
had the self-command to stop. 

“ Had you any conversation with the German woman ?” 
he continued, bowing slightly to the judge to denote sub- 
mission to his pleasure. 

“ She couldn’t talk English. Mary Monson talked with 
her, I didn’t, to any account.” 

“ Were you at the fire ? ” 

“ I was.” 

“ Did you see anything of this German during the fire, 
or afterward ? ” 

“ I didn’t. She disappeared, unaccountable ! ” 

“ Did you visit the Goodwins as often after Mary Mon- 
son came to live with them, as you had done previously ? ” 

“ I didn’t— grand looks and grand language isn’t agree- 
able to me.” 

“ Did Mary Monson ever speak to you ? ” 

~ “1 think, your honor,” objected Williams, who did not 
like the question, “that this is travelling out of the rec- 
ord.” 

“ Let the gentleman proceed — time is precious, and a 
discussion would lose us more of it than to let him pro- 
ceed — go on, Mr. Dunscomb.” 

“Did Mary Monson ever speak to you ?” 

“ She never did, to my knowledge.” 

“What then do you mean by ‘grand language ?’” 

“Why, when she spoke to Aunt Dorothy, she didn’t 
speak as I was used to hear folks speak.” 

“In what respect was the difference ? ” 

“ She was grander in her speqch, and more pretending 
like.” 

“ Do you mean louder ? ” 

“No — perhaps she wasn’t as loud as common — but ’twas 
more like a book, and uncommon.” 

Dunscomb understood all this perfectly, as well as the 
feeling which lay at its bottom, but he saw that the jury 


330 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


did not ; and he was forced to abandon the inquiry, as often 
happens on such occasions, on account of the ignorance 
of those to whom the testimony was addressed. He soon 
after abandoned the cross-examination of the sister of Bur- 
ton ; when his wife was brought upon the stand by the 
prosecution. 

This woman, coming from a different stock, had none of 
the family characteristics of the sisters. As they were 
garrulous, forward, and willing enough to testify, she was 
silent, reserved in manner, thoughtful, and seemingly so 
diffident that she trembled all over, as she laid her hand 
on the sacred volume. Mrs. Burton passed for a very good 
woman among all who dwelt in or near Biberry ; and there 
was much more confidence felt in her revelations than in 
those of her sisters-in-law. Great modesty, not to say tim- 
idity of manner, an air of singular candor, a low, gentle 
voice, and an anxious expression of countenance, as if she 
weighed the import of every syllable she uttered, soon 
won for this witness the sympathy of all present, as well 
as perfect credence. Every word she uttered had a direct 
influence on the case ; and this so much the more since 
she testified reluctantly, and would gladly have been per- 
mitted to say nothing. 

The account given by Mrs. Burton, in her examination 
in chief, did not materially differ from that previously 
stated by her sisters-in-law. She knew more, in some re- 
spects, than those who had preceded her, while, in others, 
she knew less. She had been more in the confidence of 
Dorothy Goodwin than any other member of her family, 
had seen her oftener, and knew more of her private affairs. 
With the stocking and its contents she admitted that she 
was familiarly acquainted. The gold exceeded fwelve hun- 
dred dollars in amount ; she had counted it, in her own 
hands. There was paper, also, but she did not know how 
much, exactly, as Dorothy kept that very much to herself. 
She knew, however, that her neighbors talked of purchas- 
ing a farm, the price of which was quite five thousand dol- 
lars, a sum that Dorothy often talked of paying down. She 
thought the deceased must have had money to that amount, 
in some form or other. 

On the subject of the piece of gold found in Mary Mon- 
son’s purse, Mrs. Burton gave her testimony with the most 
amiable discretion. Every one compared the reserve and 
reluctance of her manner most favorably with the pert 
readiness of Mrs. Pope and the sisters. This witness ap- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


33 * 


peared to appreciate the effect of all she said, and uttered 
the facts she knew with a gentleness of manner that gave 
great weight to her testimony. Dunscomb soon saw that 
this was the witness the defence had most reason to dread, 
and he used the greatest care in having every word she 
said written out with precision. 

Mrs. Burton swore point blank to the piece of notched 
gold, although she fairly trembled as she gave her testi- 
mony. She knew it was the very piece that she had often 
seen in Dorothy Goodwin’s possession ; she had examined it, 
at least a dozen times, and could have selected it among a 
thousand similar coins', by means of its private marks.- 
Besides the notch, there was a slight defect in the impres- 
sion of the date. This had been pointed out to her by 
Dorothy Goodwin herself, who had said it was a good 
mark by which to know the piece, should it be 1 stolen. On 
this head, the witness’s testimony was firm, clear, and full. 
As it was corroborated by so much other evidence, the 
result was a deep and very general impression of the pris- 
oner’s guilt. 

It was late when the examination in chief of Mrs. Bur- 
ton terminated. She stated that she was much fatigued, 
and was suffering under a severe headache ; and Williams 
asked, in her behalf, that the court would adjourn over, 
until next day, ere the cross-examination was gone into. 
This suited Dunscomb’s views altogether, for he knew 
he might lose an essential advantage by allowing the' wit- 
ness a night to arrange her thoughts, pending 1 so Search- 
ing a process. There being no resistance on the part of 
the prisoner to the request of the prosecution, the judge 
so far waived his regard for the precious time of the court, 
as to consent to adjourn at eight o’clock in the evening, 
instead of pushing the case to ten or eleven. As a conse- 
quence the jurors took their rest in bed, instead of sleep- 
ing in the jury-box. 

Dunscomb left the court-house, that night, dejected, and 
with no great expectation of the acquittal of his client. 
Timms had a better feeling, and thought nothing had yet 
appeared that might not be successfully resisted. 


33 2 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

“ I’ve not wronged her.” 

“ Far be it from my fears.” 

“ Then why this argument ? ” 

My lord, my nature’s jealous, and you’ll bear it.” 

— Otway. 

So great was the confidence of Sarah Wilmeter and 
Anna Updyke in the innocence of their friend, that almost 
every step that the trial advanced, appeared to them as so 
much progress toward an eventual acquittal. It was per- 
haps a little singular that the party most interested, she 
who knew her own guilt or innocence, became dejected, 
and for the first half hour after they had left the court- 
room she was silent and thoughtful. Good Mrs. Gott was 
quite in despair, and detained Anna Updyke, with whom 
she had established a sort of intimacy, as she opened the 
door of the gallery for the admission of the party, in order 
to say a word on the subject that lay nearest to her heart. 

“Oh! Miss Anna,” said the sheriff ’s wife, “it goes from 
bad to worse ! It was bad enough last evening, and it is 
worse to-night.” 

“Who tells you this, Mrs. Gott ? So far from thinking 
as you do, I regard it as appearing particularly favorable.” 

“You must have heard what Burton said, and what his 
wife said, too. They arathe witnesses I dread.” 

“ Yes, but who will mind what such persons say ! I am 
sure if fifty Mr. and Mrs. Burtons were to testify that 
Mary Monson had taken money that did not belong to her, 
I should not believe them.” 

“ You are not a Dukes County jury ! Why, Miss Anna, 
these men will believe almost anything you tell them. 
Only swear to it, and there’s no accounting for their cre- 
dulity. No ; I no more believe in Mary Monson’s guilt 
than I do in my own, but law is law, they say, and rich and 
poor must abide by it.” 

“You view the matter under a false light, my kind- 
hearted Mrs. Gott, and after a night’s rest will see the case 
differently. Sarah and I have been delighted with the 
course of things. You must have remarked no one said 
that Mary Monson had been seen to set fire to the 
house, or to harm the Goodwins, or to touch their prop- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


333 


erty, or to do anything that was wrong ; and of course she 
must be acquitted.” 

“ I wish that piece of gold had not been found in her 
pocket! It’s that which makes all the trouble.” 

“ I think nothing of that, my good friend. There is 
nothing remarkable in two pieces of money having the 
same marks on them ; I have seen that often, myself. 
Besides Mary Monson explains all that, and her declara- 
tion is as good as that of this Mrs. Burton’s, any day.” 

“ Not in law, Miss Anna ; no, not in law. Out of doors 
it might be much better, and probably is ; but not in court, 
by what they tell me. Gott says it is beginning to look 
very dark, and that we, in the jail, here, must prepare for 
the very worst. I tell him, if I was he, I’d resign before 
I’d execute such a beautiful creature ! ” 

“You make me shudder with such horrid thoughts, Mrs. 
Gott, and I will thank you to open the door. Take cour- 
age ; we shall never have to lament such a catastrophe, or 
your husband to perform so revolting a duty.” 

“ I hope not — I’m sure I hope not, with all my heart. I 
would prefer that Gott should give up all hopes of ever 
rising any higher, than have him do this office. One 
never knows, Miss Anna, what is to happen in life, though 
I was as happy as a child when he was made sheriff. If 
my words have any weight with him, and he often says 
they have, I shall never let him execute Mary Monson. 
You are young, Miss Anna ; but you’ve heard the tongue 
of flattery, I make no doubt, and know how sweet it is 
to woman’s ear.” 

Mrs. Gott had been wiping her eyes with one hand, and 
putting the key into the lock with the other, while talk- 
ing, and she now stood regarding her young companion 
with a sort of motherly interest, as she made this appeal 
to her experience. Anna blushed “rosy red,” and raised 
her gloved hand to turn the key, as if desirous of getting 
away from the earnest look of the matron. 

“ That’s just the way with all of us, Miss Anna !” con- 
tinued Mrs. Gott. “We listen, and listen, and listen ; and 
believe, and believe, and believe, until we are no longer 
the gay, light-hearted creatures that we were, but become 
mopy, and sightful, and anxious, to a degree that makes 
us forget father and mother, and fly from the paternal 
roof.” 

“Will you have the kindness, now, to let me into the 
jail ? ” said Anna, in the gentlest voice imaginable. 


334 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“In a minute, my dear — I call you my dear, because I 
like you; for I never use what Gott calls ‘high-flown.’ 
There is Mr. John Wilmeter, now, as handsome and agree- 
able a youth as ever came to Biberry. He comes here 
two or three times a day, and sits ahd talks with me in the 
most agreeable way, until I’ve got to like him better than 
any young man of my acquaintance. He talks of you, 
quite half the time'; and when he is not talking of you, he 
is thinking of you, as I know by the way he gazes at this 
very door.” 

“Perhaps his thoughts are on Mary Monson,” answered 
Anna, blushing scarlet. “ You know she is a sort of client 
of his, and he has been here in her service for a good 
while.” 

“ She hardly ever saw him ; scarcely ever, except at this 
grate. His foot never crossed this threshold, until his 
uncle came ; and since, I believe, he has gone in but once. 
Mary Monson is not the being he worships.” 

“ I trust he worships the Being We all worship, Mrs. 
Gott,” struggling gently to turn the key and succeeding. 
“It is not for us poor frail beings to talk of being wor- 
shipped.” 

“ Or of worshipping, as I tell Gott,” said the sheriff’s 
wife, permitting her companion to depart. 

Anna found Mary Monson and Sarah walking together 
in the gallery, conversing earnestly. 

“It is singular that nothing reaches us from Michael 
Millington ! ” exclaimed the last, as Anna interlocked 
arms with her, and joined the party. “It is now near 
eight-and-forty hours since iny uncle sent him to town.” 

“ On my business ? ” demanded Mary Monson, quickly. 

“ Certainly ; on no other — though what it was that took 
him away so suddenly, I have not been told. I trust you 
will be able to overturn all that these Burtons have said, 
and to repair the mischief they have done ? ” 

“Fear nothing for me, Miss, Wilmeter,” answered the 
prisoner, with singular steadiness of manner-— “ I tell you, 
as I have often told your friend, / must be acquitted. Let 
justice take its course, say I, and the guilty be punished. 
I have a clew to the whole story, as I believe, and must 
make provision for to-morrow. Do you two, dear warm- 
hearted friends as you are, now leave me ; and when you 
reach the inn, send Mr. Dunscomb hither, as soon as possi- 
ble. Not that. Timms ; but noble, honest, and upright 
Mr. Dunscomb. Kiss me, each of you, and so good night. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


335 


Think of me in your prayers. I am a great sinner, and 
have need of your prayers.” 

The wishes of Mary Monson were obeyed, and the young 
ladies left the jail for the night. Ten minutes later Duns- 
comb reached the place, and was admitted. His conference 
with his client was long, intensely interesting, and it quite 
unsettled the notions he had now, for some time, enter- 
tained of her guilt. She did not communicate anything 
concerning her past life, nor did she make any promises 
on that subject ; but she did communicate facts of great 
importance, as connected with the result of her trial. 
Dunscomb left her, at fixate hour, with views entirely 
changed, hopes revived, l||hd his resolution stimulated. 
He made ample entries in his brief ; nor did he lay his 
head on his pillow until it was very late. 

The little court-house bell rang as usual, next morning, 
and judge, jurors, witnesses, lawyers, and the curious in 
general, collected as before, without any ceremony, though 
in decent quiet. The case was now getting to be so 
serious, that all approached it as truly a matter of life and 
death ; even the reporters submitting to an impulse of 
humanity, and viewing the whole affair less in a business 
point of view, than as one which might carry a singularly 
gifted woman into the other world. The first act of the 
day opened by putting Mrs. Burton on the stand, for her 
cross-examination. As every intelligent person present 
.understood that on her testimony depended the main re- 
sult, the fall of a pin might almost have been heard, so 
profound was the general wish to catch what was going 
on. The witness, however, appeared to be calm, while the 
advocate was pale and anxious. He had the air, of one 
who had slept little the past night. He arranged his 
papers with studied care, made each movement deliber- 
ately, compressed his lips, and seemed to be bringing his 
thoughts into such a state of order and distinctness that 
each might be resorted to as it was needful. In point of 
fact, Dunscomb foresaw that a human life depended very 
much on the result of this cross-examination, and, like a 
conscientious man, he was disposed to do his whole duty. 
No wonder, then, that he paused to reflect, was deliberate 
in his acts, and concentrated in feeling. 

“ We will first give our attention to this piece of gold, 
Mrs. Burton,” the counsel for the prisoner mildly com- 
menced, motioning to the coroner, who was in court to 
show the witness the piece of money so often examined. 


336 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


“Are you quite certain that it is the very coin that you 
saw in the possession of Mrs. Goodwin ?” 

“ Absolutely certain, sir. As certain as J am of any- 
thing in the world.” 

“ Mrs. Burton, I wish you to remember that the life of 
the prisoner at the bar will, most probably, be affected by 
your testimony. Be kind enough, then, to be very guarded 
and close in your answers. Do you still say that this is 
the precise coin that you once saw in Mrs. Goodwin’s 
stocking ? ” 

The witness seemed suddenly struck with the manner of 
the advocate. She trembled from head to foot. Still, 
Dunscomb spoke mildly, kindly even ; and the idea con- 
veyed in the present, was but a repetition of that conveyed 
in the former question. Nevertheless those secret agen- 
cies, by means of which thought meets thought, unknown 
to all but their possessors ; that set in motion, as it might 
be, all the covert currents of the mind, causing them to 
flow toward similar streams in the mind of another, were 
now at work, and Dunscomb and the witness had a clew to 
each other’s meaning that entirely escaped the observation 
of all around them. There is nothing novel in this state 
of secret intelligence. It doubtless depends on a mutual 
consciousness, and a common knowledge of certain mate- 
rial facts, the latter being applied by the former, with 
promptitude and tact. Notwithstanding her sudden alarm, 
and the change it brought over her entire manner, Mrs. 
Burton answered the question as before; what was more, 
she answered it truly. The piece of gold found in Mary 
Monson’s purse, and novv in possession of the coroner, 
who had kept it carefully, in order to identify it, had been 
in Dorothy Goodwin’s stocking. 

“ Quite certain, sir. I know that to be the same piece 
of money that I saw at different times, in Mrs. Goodwin’s 
stocking.” 

“Did you. ever have that gold coin in your own hand, 
Mrs. Burton, previously to this trial ? ” 

This was a very natural and simple interrogatory ; one 
that might be, and probably was, anticipated ; yet it gave 
the witness uneasiness, more from the manner of Duns- 
comb, perhaps, than from anything in the nature of the 
inquiry itself. The answer, however, was given promptly, 
and, as before, with perfect truth. 

“ On several occasions, sir. I saw that notch, and talked 
with Mrs. Goodwin about it, more fhan once.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


337 


“ What was the substance of Mrs. Goodwin’s remarks, 
in relation to that notch ? ” 

“ She asked me, one time, if I thought it lessened the 
weight of the coin ; and if so, how much I thought it might 
take away from its value ? ” 

“ What was }>'our answer ? ” 

“ I believe I said I did not think it could make any great 
difference.” 

“ Did Mrs. Goodwin ever tell you how, or where, she 
got that piece of money?” 

“ Yes, sir, she did. She told me it came from Mary 
Monson.” 

“ In pay for board ; or, for what purpose did it pass from 
one to the other ? M 

This, too, was a very simple question, but the witness 
no longer answered promptly. The reader will remem- 
ber that Mary Monson had said before the coroner, that 
she had two of these coins, and that she had given one of 
them to the poor unfortunate deceased, and had left the 
other in her own purse. This answer had injured the 
cause of the accused, inasmuch as it was very easy to tell 
such a tale, while few in Biberry were disposed to believe 
that gold passed thus freely, and without any considera- 
tion, from hand to hand. Mrs. Burton remembered all this, 
and, for a reason best known to herself, she shrank a little 
from making the required reply. Still she did answer this 
question also, and answered it truly. 

“ I understood Aunt Dolly to say that Mary Monson 
made her a present of that piece of money.” 

Here Timms elevated his nose, and looked around him 
in a meaning manner, that appealed to the audiehce to 
know if his client was not a person of veracity. S6oth to 
say, this answer made a strong impression in favor of the 
accused, and Dunscomb saw with satisfaction that, in so 
much, he had materially gained ground. He was not a 
man to gain it, however, by dramatic airs ; he merely 
paused for a few moments, in order to give full effect to 
this advantage. 

“Mrs. Goodwin, then, owned to you that she had the 
coin from Mary Monson, and that it was a present was 
the next question. 

“ She did, sir.” 

“ Did she say anything about Mary Monson’s having 
another piece of money, like the one before you, and 
which was given by her to Dorothy Goodwin ?” 


338 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


A long pause succeeded. The witness raised a hand to 
her brow, and appeared to meditate. Her reputation for 
taciturnity and gravity of deportment was such, that most 
of those in court believed she was endeavoring to recollect 
the past, in order to say neither more nor less than the 
truth. In point of fact, she was weighing well the effect 
of her words, for she was a person of extreme caution, and 
of great reputed probity of character. The reply came at 
length — 

“ She did speak on the subject,” she said, “and did state 
something of the kind.” 

“ Can you recollect her words — if so, give them to the 
jury — if not her very words, their substance.” 

“ Aunt Dolly had a way of her own in talking, which 
makes it very difficult to repeat her precise words ; 
but she said, in substance, that Mary Monson, had two 
of these pieces of money, one of which was given to 
her." 

“ Mary Monson, then, kept the other?” 

“ So I understood it, sir.” 

“ Have you any knowledge yourself, on this subject ? If 
so, state it to the jury.” 

Another pause, one even longer than before, and again 
the hand was raised to the brow. The witness now spoke 
with extreme caution, seeming to feql her way among the 
facts, as a cat steals on its prey. 

“ I believe I have — a little — some — I have seen Mary 
Monson’s purse, and ,1 believe I saw a piece of money in it 
which resembled this.” 

“ Are you not certain of the fact ? ” 

“ Perhaps I am.” 

Here Dunscomb’s face was lighted with a smile ; he evi- 
dently was encouraged. 

“ Were you present, Mrs. Burton, when Mary Monson’s 
purse was examined, in presence of the inquest ? ” 

“ I was.” 

“ Did you then see its contents ? ” 

“ I did ” — after the longest pause of all. 

“ Had you that purse in your hand, ma’am ?” 

The brow was once more shaded, and the recollection 
seemingly taxed. 

“ I think I had. It was passed round among us, and I 
believe that I touched it, as well as others.” 

“Are you not certain that you did so ?” 

“Yes, sir. Now, I reflect, I know that I did. The 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


339 


piece of money found in Mary Monson’s purse, was passed 
from one to another, and to me, among the rest” 

“This was very wrong,” observed his honor. 

“ It was wrong, sir ; but not half as wrong as the mur- 
ders and arson,” coolly remarked Williams. 

“ Go on, gentlemen — time is precious.” 

“Now, Mrs. Burton, I wish to ask you a very particular 
question, and I beg that your answer may be distinct and 
guarded — did you ever have access to the piece of gold 
found, or said to be found, in Mary Monson’s purse, ex- 
cept on the occasion of the inquest ? ” 

The longest pause of all, and the deepest shading of the 
brow. So long was the self-deliberation this time, as to 
excite a little remark among the spectators. Still, it was 
no more than prudent, to be cautious, in a cause of so 
much importance. 

“ I certainly have, sir,” was the reply that came at last. 
“ I saw it in Dorothy Goodwin’s stocking, several times ; 
had it in my hand, and examined it. This is the way I 
came to discover the notch. Aunt Dolly and I talked 
about that notch, as I have already told the court.” 

“ Quite true, ma’am, we remember that , all your an- 
swers are carefully written out 

“ I’m sure, nothing that I have said can be written out, 
which is not true, sir.” 

“ We are to suppose that. And now, ma’am, permit me 
to ask if you ever saw that piece of money at any other 
time than at those you have mentioned. Be particular in 
the answer.” 

“ I may,” after a long pause. 

“ Do you not know ? ” 

“ I do not, sir.” 

“Will you say, on your oath, that you cannot recollect 
any one occasion, other than those you have mentioned, on 
which you have seen and handled that piece of money ?” 

“ When Aunt Dolly showed it to me, before the coroner, 
and here in court. I recollect no other time.” 

“ Let me put this question to you again, Mrs. Burton — 
recalling the solemnity of the oath you have taken— have 
you, or have you not, seen that piece of money on any 
other occasion than those you have just mentioned ? ” 

“ I do not remember ever to have seen it at any other 
time,” answered the woman, firmly. 

Mary Monson gave a little start, and Dunscomb ap- 
peared disappointed. Timms bit his lip, atld looked anx- 


340 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


iously at the jury, while Williams once more cocked his 
nose, and looked around him in triumph. If the witness 
spoke the truth, she was now likely to adhere to it ; if, on 
the other hand, there were really any ground for Duns- 
comb’s question, the witness had passed the Rubicon, and 
would adhere to her falsehood even more tenaciously 
than she would adhere to the truth. The remainder of 
this cross-examination was of very little importance. Noth- 
ing further was obtained from the witness that went to 
shake her testimony. 

Our limits will not permit a detailed account of all the 
evidence that was given in behalf of the prosecution. All 
that appeared before the inquest was now introduced, 
methodized and arranged by Williams ; processes that 
rendered it much more respectable than it had originally 
appeared to be. At length it came to the turn of the de- 
fence to open. This was a task that Dunscomb took on 
himself, Timms, in his judgment, being unequal to it. His 
opening was very effective, in the way of argument, though 
necessarily not conclusive, the case not making in favor of 
his client. 

The public expected important revelations as to the past 
history of the prisoner, and of this Timms had apprised 
Dunscomb. The latter, however, was not prepared to 
make them. Mary Monson maintaiped all her reserve, and 
Millington did not return. The cause was now so far ad- 
vanced as to render it improbable that any facts, of this 
nature, could be obtained in sufficient season to be used, 
and the counsel saw the necessity of giving a new turn to 
this particular point in the case. He consequently com- 
plained that the prosecution had neglected to show any- 
thing in the past life of the accused to render it probable 
she had been guilty of the offences with which she was 
charged. “ Mary Monson appears here,” he went on to 
say, “ with a character as fair as that of any other female 
in the community. This is the presumption of law, and 
you will truly regard her, gentlemen, as one that .is inno- 
cent until she is proved to be guilty.” The inference drawn 
from the silence of the prosecution was not strictly logical, 
perhaps ; but Dunscomb managed at least to mystify the 
matter in such a way as to prepare the jury to hear a de- 
fence that would be silent on this head, and to leave a 
doubt whether this silence were not solely the fault of the 
counsel for the prosecution. While he was commenting 
on this branch of the subject, Williams took notes furious- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


341 


ly, and Timms foresaw that he meant to turn the tables on 
them, at the proper moment. 

Pretty much as a matter of course, Dunscomb was com- 
pelled to tell the court and jury that the defence relied 
principally on the insufficiency of the evidence of the other 
side. This was altogether circumstantial ; and the circum- 
stances, as he hoped to be able to convince the jury, were 
of a nature that admitted of more than one construction. 
Whenever this was the case, it was the duty of the jury to 
give the accused the full benefit of these doubts. The 
rest of the opening had the usual character of appeals to 
the sympathy and justice of the jury, very prudently and 
properly put. 

Dr. McBrain was now placed upon the stand, when the 
customary questions were asked, to show that he was a 
witness entitled to the respect of the court. lie was then 
further interrogated, as follows : 

“ Have you seen the two skeletons that are now in court, 
and which are said to have been taken from the ruins of 
the house of the Goodwins ? ” 

“ I have. I saw them before the inquest ; and I have 
again examined them here, in court.” 

“ What do you say, as to their sex ? ” 

“ I believe them both to be the skeletons of females.” 

“ Do you feel certain of this fact ? ” 

“ Reasonably so, but not absolutely. No one can pro- 
nounce with perfect certainty in such a case ; more espe- 
cially when the remains are in the state in which these 
have been found. We are guided principally by the com- 
parative size of the bones ; and, as these are affected by 
the age of the subject, it is hazardous to be positive. I 
can only say that X think both of these skeletons belonged 
to female subjects ; particularly the shortest.” 

“ Have you measured the skeletons ? ” 

“ I have’, and find one rather more than an inch and a 
half shorter than the other. The longest measures quite 
five feet seven and a half, in the the state in which it is ; 
while the shortest measures a trifle less than five feet six. 
If women, both were of unusual stature ; particularly the 
first. I think that the bones of both indicate that they be- 
longed to females ; and I should have thought the same 
had I known nothing of the reports which have reached 
my ears touching the persons whose remains these are 
said to be.” 

“When you first formed your opinion of the sex of those 


342 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


to whom these remains belonged, had you heard that there 
was a German woman staying in the house of' the Good- 
wins at the time of the fire ?” 

“ I think not ; though I have taken so little heed of these 
rumors as to be uncertain when I first heard this circum- 
stance. I do remember, however, that I was under the 
impression the remains were, beyond a doubt, those of 
Peter Goodwin and his wife, when I commenced the exami- 
nation of them ; and I very distinctly recollect the surprise 
I felt when the conviction crossed my mind that both were 
the skeletons of women. From the nature 'of this feeling, 
I rather think I could not have heard anything of the 
German female at that time.” 

The cross-examination of Dr. McBrain was very long 
and searching, but it did not materially affect the substance 
of his testimony. On the contrary, it rather strengthened 
it ; since he had it in his power to explain himself more 
fully under the interrogatories of Williams, than he could 
do in an examination in chief. Still, he could go no 
further than give his strong belief ; declining to pronounce 
positively on the sex of either individual, in the state in 
which the remains wereffound. 

Although nothing positive was obtained from this testi- 
mony, the minds of the jurors were pointedly directed to 
the circumstance of the sudden and unexplained disappear- 
ance of the German woman ; thus making an opening for 
the admission of a serious doubt Connected with the fate 
of that person. 

It was a sad thing to reflect that, beyond this testimony 
of McBrain there was little other direct evidence to offer 
in behalf of the accused. It is true, the insufficiency of 
that which had been produced by the prosecution might 
avail her much ; and on this Dunscomb saw that his hopes 
of an acquittal must depend ; but he could not refrain 
from regretting, and that bitterly, that the unmoved reso- 
lution of his client not to let her past life be known, must 
so much weaken his case, Were she innocent, and so much 
fortify that of the prosecution, under the contrary suppo- 
sition. Another physician or two were examined to sus- 
tain McBrain ; but, after all, the condition of the remains 
was such as to render any testimony questionable. One 
witness went so far as to say, it is true, that he thought he 
could distinguish certain unerring signs of the sex in the 
length of the lower limbs, and in other similar proof ; but 
even McBrain was forced to admit that such distinctions 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


343 


were very vague and unsatisfactory. His own opinion 
was formed more from the size of the bones, generally, 
than ‘from any other proof. In general, there was little 
difficulty in speaking of the sex of the subject, when the 
skeleton was entire and well preserved, and particularly 
when the teeth furnished some clew to the age ; but, in 
this particular case, as has already been stated, there could 
be no such thing as absolute certainty. 

It was with a heavy heart, and with many an anxious glance 
cast toward the door, in the hope of seeing Michael Mil- 
lington enter, that Dunscomb admitted the prisoner had 
no further testimony to offer. He had spun out the little 
he did possess, in order to give it an appearance of im- 
portance which it did not actually bring with it, and to di- 
vert the minds of the jurors from the impression they had 
probably obtained, of the remains necessarily being those 
of Goodwin and his wife. 

The summing up on both sides was a grave and solemn 
scene. Here Williams was thrown out, the district attor- 
ney choosing to perform his own duty on an occasion so 
serious. Dunscomb made a noble appeal to the justice of 
the court and jury; admonishing both of the danger of 
yielding too easily to circumstantial evidence. It was the 
best possible proof, he admitted, when the circumstances 
were sufficiently clear and sufficiently shown to be them- 
selves beyond controversy. That Mary Monson dwelt 
with the Goodwins, was in the house at the time of the 
arson and murder, if such crimes were ever committed at 
all ; that she escaped and all her property was saved, 
would of themselves amount to nothing. The testimony, 
indeed, on several of these heads, rather told in her favor 
than the reverse. The witnesses for the prosecution 
proved that she was in her room, beneath the roof, when 
the flames broke out, and was saved with difficulty. This 
was a most material fact, and Dunscomb turned it to good 
account. Would an incendiary be apt to place herself 
in a situation in which her own life was in danger : and 
this, too, under circumstances that rendered no such meas- 
ure necessary? Then, all the facts connected with Mary 
Monson’s residence and habits told in her favor. Why 
should she remain so long at the cottage if robbery was 
her only purpose ? The idea of her belonging to a gang 
that had sent her to make discoveries and to execute its 
plans, was preposterous ; for what hindered any of the 
men of that gang from committing the crimes in the most 


344 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


direct manner, and with the least loss of time ? No ; if 
Mary Monson were guilty, she was undoubtedly guilty on 
her own account ; and had been acting with the uncertain 
aim and hand of a woman. The jury must discard all 
notions of accomplices, and consider the testimony 
solely in connection with the acts of the* accused. Ac- 
complices, and those of the nature supposed, would 
have greatly simplified the whole of the wretched trans- 
action. They would have rendered both the murders 
and arson unnecessary. The bold and strong do not com- 
mit these crimes, except in those cases in which resistance 
renders them necessary. Here was clearly no resistance, 
as was shown by the quiet positions in which the skele- 
tons had been found. If a murder was directly commit- 
ted, it must have been by the blow on the heads ; and 
the jury was asked to consider whether a delicate female 
like Mary Monson had even the physical force necessary 
to strike such a blow. With what instrument was it done ? 
Nothing of the sort was found near the bodies ; and no 
proof of any such blow was before the jury. One wit- 
ness had said that the iron-work of a plow lay quite 
near the remains ; and it had been shown that Peter Good- 
win kept such articles in a loft over his bedroom. He 
would suggest the possibility of the fire’s having com- 
menced in that loft, through which tlie pipe of a cooking- 
stove led ; of its having consumed the beams of the floor ; 
letting down this plow and share upon the heads, of the 
sleeping couple below, stunning, if not killing them ; thus 
leaving them unresisting subjects to the action of the ele- 
ment. McBrain had befcn examined on this point, which 
we omitted to state in its place, to prevent repetition. 
He, and the two other doctors brought forward for the de- 
fence, had tried to place the plowshare on the skulls, and 
were of opinion that the injuries might have been in- 
flicted by that piece of iron. But Mary Monson could not 
use such an instrument. This was beyond all dispute. If 
the plowshare inflicted the blow — and the testimony on 
this point was at least entitled to respect — then was Mary 
Monson innocent of any murder committed by direct means. 
It is true, she was responsible for all her acts ; and if she 
set fire to the building, she was probably guilty of murder 
as well as of arson. But would she have done this, and 
made no provision for her own escape ? The evidence was 
clear that she was rescued by means of a ladder, and through 
a window ; and that there were no other'means of escape. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR, 


345 


Dunscomb reasoned on these several points with great 
force and ingenuity. So clear were his statements, so logi- 
cal his inferences, and so candid his mode of arguing, that 
he had produced a great effect ere he closed this branch 
of his subject. It is true, that one far more difficult re- 
mained to be met ; to answer which he now set about with 
fear and trembling. 

We allude to the piece of money alleged to have been 
found in Mary Monson’s purse. Dunscomb had very lit- 
tle difficulty in disposing of the flippant Widow Pope ; but 
the Burton family gave him more trouble. Nevertheless, 
it was his duty to endeavor to get rid of them, or at least 
so far to weaken their testimony as to give his client the 
benefit of the doubt. There was, in truth, but one mode 
of doing this. It was to impress on the jury the probabil- 
ity that the coin had been changed in passing from hand 
to hand. It is true, it was not easy to suggest any plausi- 
ble reason why such an act of treachery should have been 
committed ; but it was a good legal point to show that this 
piece of money had not, at all times, been absolutely under 
the eye or within the control of the coroner. If there were 
a possibility of a change, the fact should and ought to tell 
in favor of his client. Mrs. Burton had made admission 
on this point which entitled the prisoner to press the facts 
on the minds of the jurors ; and her counsel did not fail so 
to do, with clearness and energy. After all, this was much 
the most difficult point of the case ; and it would not admit 
of a perfectly satisfactory solution. 

The conclusion of Dunscomb’s summing up was manly, 
touching, even eloquent. He spoke of a lone and defence- 
less female, surrounded by strangers, being dragged to the 
bar on charges of such gravity ; pointed to his client, 
where she sat enthralled by his language, with all the 
signs of polished refinement on her dress, person, and 
manners ; delicate, feminine, and beautiful ; and asked if 
any one, who had the soul and feelings of a man, could 
believe that such a being had committed the crimes im- 
puted to Mary Monson. 

The appeal was powerful, and was dwelt on just long 
enough to give it full and fair effect. It left the bench, 
the bar, the jury-box, the whole audience, in fact, in tears. 
The prisoner alone kept an unmoistened eye ; but it was 
in a face flushed with feeling. Her self-command was 
almost supernatural. 


346 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

I’ll brave her to her face : 

I’ll give my anger its free course against her. 

Thou shalt see, Phoenix, how I’ll break her pride. 

— The Distressed M other* 

The district attorney was fully impressed with the impor- 
tance of the duty that had now devolved on him. Although 
we have daily proofs on all sides of us, of the truth of that 
remark of Bacon’s, “that no man rises to eminence in the 
State without a mixture of great and mean qualities,” this 
favorite of the people had his good points as well as an- 
other. He was a humane man ; and, contrary to the ex- 
pectations, and greatly to the disappointment of Williams, 
he now took on himself the office of summing-up. 

The public functionary commenced in a. mild, quiet man- 
ner, manifesting by the key on which he pitched his voice 
a natural reluctance to his painful duty ; but he wa£ steady 
and collected. He opened with a brief summary of the 
facts. A strange female, of high personal pretensions, had 
takeft lodgings in an humble dwelling. That dwelling con- 
tained a considerable sum of money. Some counted it by 
thousands ; all by hundreds. In either case, it was a temp- 
tation to the covetous and ill-disposed. The lodgings were 
unsuited to the habits of the guest ; but she endured them 
for several weeks. A fire occurred, and the house was 
consumed. The remains of the husband and wife were 
found, as the jury saw them, with marks of violence on 
their skulls. A deadly blow had been struck by some one. 
The bureau containing the money was found locked, but 
the money itself was missing. One piece of that money 
was known, and it was traced to the purse of the female 
lodger. This stranger was arrested ; and, in her mode of 
living in the jail, in her expenditures of every sort, she 
exhibited the habits and profusion of one possessed of con- 
siderable sums. Doubtless many of the reports in circu- 
lation were false ; exaggerations ever accompanied each 
statement of any unusual occurrence ; but enough was 
proved to show that Mary Monson had a considerable 
amount of money at command. Whence came these funds ? 
That which was lightly obtained went lightly. The jury 
were exhorted to reject every influence but that which was 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


347 


sustained by the evidence. All that had been here stated 
rested on uncontradicted, unresisted testimony. 

There was no desire to weaken the force of the defence. 
This defence had been ingeniously and powerfully pre- 
sented ; and to what did it amount ? The direct, unequivo- 
cal evidence of Mrs. Burton, as to her knowledge of the 
piece of money, and all that related to it, and this evidence 
sustained by so much that was known to others, the cor- 
oner included, was met by- a conjecture. This conjecture 
was accompanied by an insinuation that some might sup- 
pose reflected on the principal witness ; but it was only 
an insinuation. There were two legal modes of attacking 
the credibility of a witness. One was by showing habitual 
mendacity ; the other by demonstrating from the evidence 
itself that the testimony could not be true. Had either 
been done in the present instance ? The district attorney 
thought not. One, and this the most common course, had 
not even been attempted. Insinuations, rather than just 
deductions, he was compelled to say, notwithstanding his 
high respect for the learned eounsel opposed to him, had 
been the course adopted. That counsel had contended that 
the circumstances were not sufficient to justify a verdict 
of guilty. Of this, the jury were the sole judges. If they 
believed Mrs. Burton, sustained as she was by so much 
other testimony, they must admit that Dorothy Goodwin’s 
money w r as found in Mary Monson’s purse. This was the 
turning point of the case. All depended on the construc- 
tion of this one fact. He left it to the jury, to their good 
sense, to their consciences. 

On the part of the defence, great stress had been laid 
on the circumstance that Mary Monson was herself res- 
cued from the flames with some difficulty. But for as- 
sistance, she would most probably have perished. The 
district attorney desired to deny nothing that could justly 
go to prove the prisoner’s innocence. The fact was un- 
questionably as stated. But for assistance, Mary Monscn 
might have perished. But assistance was not wanting ; 
for strangers were most opportunely at hand, and they did 
this piece of good service. They remained until all was 
over, and vanished. No one knew them ; whence they 
came, or whither they went. Important agents in saving 
a life, they had gone without their reward, and were not 
even named in the newspaper accounts of the occurrence. 
Reporters generally tell more than happens ; in this in- 
stance, they were mute. 


348 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


As for the danger of the prisoner, it might have hap- 
pened in a variety of ways that affected neither her guilt 
nor her innocence. After committing the murders, she may 
have gone into her room and been unexpectedly inclosed 
by the flames ; or the whole may have been previously 
planned, in order to give her the plea of this very danger- 
ous situation, as a proof of innocence. Such immaterial 
circumstances were not to overshadow the very material 
facts on which the prosecution rested. 

Another important question was to be asked by the 
jury — If Mary Monson did not commit those crimes, who 
did ? It had been suggested that the house might have 
taken fire by accident, and that the plowshare was the real 
cause of the death of its owners. If this were so, did the 
plowshare remove the money ? did the plowshare put the 
notched piece in Mary Monson’s purse ? 

Such is an outline of the manner in which the district at- 
torney reasoned on the facts. His summing-up made a 
deep impression ; the moderation of the manner in which 
he pressed the guilt of the accused, telling strongly 
against her. Nothing was said of aristocracy, or harps, or 
manners, or of anything else that did not fairly belong to 
the subject. A great deal more was said, of course ; but 
we do not conceive it necessary to advert to it. 

The charge was exceedingly impartial. The judge made 
a full exposition of all the testimony, pointed out its legit- 
imate bearing, and dissected its weak points. As for the 
opinion of McBrain and his associates, the court conceived 
it entitled to a great deal of consideration. Here were 
several highly respectable professional men testifying that, 
in their judgment, both the skeletons were those of fe- 
males. The German woman was missing. What had be- 
come of her ? In any case, the disappearance of that 
woman was very important. She may have committed 
the crimes, and absconded ; or one of the skeletons may 
have been hers. It was in evidence that Peter Goodwin 
and his wife did not always live in the most happy mood ; 
and he may have laid hands on the money, which was 
probably his in the eyes of the law, and left the place. 
He had not been seen since the fire. The jury must take 
all the facts into consideration, and decide according to 
their consciences. 

This charge was deemed rather favorable to the accused 
than otherwise. The humanity of the judge was conspic- 
uous throughout ; and he leaned quite obviously to Duns- 


THE IV A VS OF THE HOUR, 


349 


comb’s manner of treating the danger of Mary Monson 
from the flames, and dwelt on the fact that the piece of 
money was not sufficiently watched to make out an abso- 
lute case of identity. When he had done, the impression 
was very general that the prisoner would be acquitted. 

As it was reasonably supposed that a case of this im- 
portance would detain the jury a considerable time, the 
court permitted the prisoner to withdraw. She left the 
place, attended by her two friends ; the latter in tears, 
while Mary herself was still seemingly unmoved. The 
thoughtful Mrs. Gott had prepared refreshments for her; 
and, for the first time since her trial commenced, the fair 
prisoner ate heartily. 

“I shall owe my triumph, not to money, my dear girls,” 
she said, while at table, “ not to friends, nor to a great 
array of counsel ; but to truth. I did not commit these 
crimes ; and on the testimony of the State alone, with 
scarcely any of my own, the jury will have to say as 
much. No stain will rest on my character, and 1 can 
meet my friends with the unclouded bro\V of innocence. 
This is a very precious moment to me ; I would not part 
with it for all the honors that riches and rank can bestow.” 

“ How strange that you, of all women, my dear mam- 
ma,” said Anna, kissing hCr cheek, “should be accused of 
crimes so horrible to obtain a little money ; for this poor 
Mrs. Goodwin could have had no great sum after all, and 
you are so rich ! ” 

“ More is the pity that I have not made a better use of 
my money. You are to be envied, girls, in having the 
fortunes of gentlewomen, and in having no more. I do 
believe it is better for our sex barely to be independent 
in their respective stations, and not to be rendered rich. 
Man or woman, money is a dangerous thing, when we 
come to consider it as a part of our natural existence ; for 
it tempts us to fancy that money’s worth gives rights that 
nature and reason both deny. I believe I should have been 
much happier, were I much poorer than I am.” 

“ But those who are rich are not very likely to rob ! ” 

“ Certainly not, in the sense that you mean, my dear. 
Send Marie Moulin on some errand, Anna ; I wish to tell 
you and Sarah what I think of this fire, and of the deaths 
for which 1 am now on trial.” 

Anna complied ; and the handsome prisoner, first look- 
ing cautiously around to make certain she was not over- 
heard, proceeded with her opinion. 


35o 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


“In the first place, I make no doubt Doctor McBrain 
is right, and that both the skeletons are those of women. 
The German woman got to be very intimate with Mrs. 
Goodwin ; and as the latter and her husband quarrelled 
daily, and fiercely, I think it probable that she took this 
woman into her bed, where they perished together. I 
should think the fire purely accidental, were it not for the 
missing stocking.” 

“That is just what the district attorney said,” cried 
Anna, innocently. “Who, then ,.can have set the house on 
fire ? ” 

Mary Monson muttered to herself ; and she smiled as 
if some queer fancies crowded her brain ; but no one was 
the wiser for her ruminations. These she kept to her- 
self, and continued : 

“Yes, that missing stocking renders the arson probable. 
The question is, who did the deed ; I or Mrs. Burton ?” 

“Mrs. Burton !” exclaimed both the girls, in a breath. 
“Why, her. character is excellent — no one has ever sus- 
pected her ! You cannot suppose that she is the guilty 
person ! ” 

“ It is she, or it is I ; which, I will leave you to judge. 
I was aware that the notch was in the coin ; for I was about 
to give the other piece to Mrs? Goodwin, but preferred to 
keep the perfect specimen myself. The notched piece 
must have been in the stocking until after the fire ; and it 
was changed by some one while my purse was under ex- 
amination.” 

“And you suppose that Mrs. Burton did it ? ” 

“ I confess to a suspicion to that effect. Who else could 
or would have done it ? I have mentioned this distrust to 
Mr. Dunscomb, and he cross-examined in reference to this 
fact ; though nothing very satisfactory was extracted. After 
my acquittal, steps will be taken to push the inquiry fur- 
ther.” 

Mary Monson continued discussing this subject for quite 
an hour; her wondering companions putting questions. 
At the end of that time Mr. Gott appeared to sa)" that the 
jury had come into court ; and that it was his duty to take 
the prisoner there to meet them. 

Perhaps Mary Monson never looked more lovely than at 
that moment. She had dressed herself with great sim- 
plicity, but with exceeding care ; excitement gave her the 
richest color ; hope, even delight, was glowingin her eyes ; 
and her whole form was expanded with the sentiment of 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


35i 


triumph. There is no feeling more general than sympathy 
with success. After the judge’s charge, few doubted of 
the result ; and on every side, as she walked with a light 
firm step to her chair, the prisoner read kindness, sympa- 
thy, and exultation. After all that had been said, and all 
the prejudices that had been awakened, Mary Mon&on was 
about to be acquitted ! Even the reporters became a little 
humanized ; had juster perceptions than common of the 
rights of their fellow-cfeatures ; and a more smiling, be- 
nignant assembly was never collected in that hall. In a 
few minutes silence was obtained, and the jurors were 
called. Every man answered to his name, when the pro- 
found stillness of expectation pervaded the place. 

“ Stand up, Mary Monson, and listen to the verdict,” 
said the clerk, not without a little tremor in his voice. 
“ Gentlemen, what do you say — is the prisoner guilty or 
not guilty ? ” 

The foreman arose, stroked down a few scattering gray 
hairs, then, in a voice barely audible, he protiotinced the 
portentous word “ Guilty.” Tf ad a bomb suddenly ex- 
ploded in the room, it could not have produced greater 
astonishment, and scarcely more consternation. Anna 
Updyke darted forward, and, as with a single bound, Mary 
Monson was folded in her arms. 

“No, no !” cried this warm-hearted girl, totally uncon- 
scious of the impropriety of her acts ; “ she is not guilty. 
You do not know her. I do. She was my schooi-mamma. 
She is a lady, incapable of being guilty of such crimes. 
No, no, gentlemen, you will think better of this, and alter 
your verdict — perhaps it was a mistake, and you meant to 
say ‘ Not guilty ! ’ ” 

“ Who is this young lady ? ” asked the judge, in a tremu- 
lous voice — “ a relative of the prisoner’s ? ” 

“No, sir,” answered the excited girl, “ no relative, but a 
very close friend. She was my ‘ school-mamma ’ once, and 
I know she is not a person to rob, and murder, and set fire 
co houses. Her birth, education, character, all place her 
above it. You will think better of this, gentlemen, and 
change your verdict. Now, go at once and do it, or you 
may distress her ! ” 

“ Does any one know who this young lady is ? ” demand- 
ed his honor, his voice growing more and more tremulous. 

“Iam Anna Updyke — Doctor McBrain’s daughter now, 
and Uncle Tom’s niece,” answered Anna, scarce knowing 
what she said. “ But never mind me — it is Mary Monson, 


352 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


here, who has been tried, and who has so wrongfully been 
found guilty. She never committed these crimes, I tell 
you, sir — is incapable of committing them — had no motive 
for committing them ; and I beg you will put a stop to 
these proceedings, before they get so far as to make it dif- 
ficult to recede. Just tell the jury to alter their verdict. 
No, no, Mary Monson is no murderess ! She would no 
more hurt the Goodwins, or touch a particle of their gold, 
than either of us all. You do not know her, sir. If you 
did, you would smile at this mistake of the jury, for it is 
all a cruel mistake. Now do, my dear sir, send them away 
again, and tell them to be more reasonable.” 

“ The young lady had better be removed,” interposed the 
judge, wiping his eyes. “Such scenes may be natural, 
and the court looks on them leniently ; but time is pre- 
cious, and my duty renders it necessary to interpose my 
authority to maintain the order of our proceedings. Let 
some of the ladies remove the young lady ; she is too deli- 
cate for the touch of a constable — but time is precious.” 

The judge was not precisely conscious, himself, of what 
he was saying, though he knew the general drift of his re- 
marks. The process of blowing his nose interrupted his 
speech more than once, and Anna was removed by the 
assistance of Marie Moulin, Sarah Wilmeter, and good 
Mrs. Gott ; the latter sobbing like a child, while the other 
two scarce realized the consequences of the momentous 
word that had just been pronounced. Dunscomb took 
care that the whole group should quit the building and be 
removed to the tavern. 

If the bar, and the spectators in general, had been sur- 
prised at the calmness of exterior maintained by the pris- 
oner, previously to the verdict, their wonder was sensibly 
increased by the manner which succeeded it. Mary Mon- 
son’s beauty shone with increasing radiance as the justice 
of her country seemed to threaten her existence more and 
more ; and at the particular moment when she was left 
alone, by the withdrawal of her female companions, many 
present fancied that she had increased in stature. Cer- 
tainly, it was a rare sight to observe the illuminated coun- 
tenance, the erect mien, and the offended air, with which 
one of the weaker sex, and one so youthful and charming, 
met a doom so terrible. Of the jury she took no notice. Her 
eye was on the judge, who was endeavoring to muster suf- 
ficient fortitude to pronounce the final decision of the 
law. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


35 3 


“ Before the court pronounces sentence, Mr. Dunscomb,” 
observed that functionary, “ it will cheerfully hear any- 
thing you may have to offer in behalf of the prisoner, or it 
will hear the prisoner herself. It is better, on every ac- 
count, that all my painful duties be discharged at once, in 
order that the prisoner may turn her attention to the only 
two sources of mercy that now remain open to her — the 
earthly and the heavenly. My duty, as you well know, 
cannot now be avoided ; and the sooner it is performed, 
perhaps, the better for all concerned. It shall be my care 
to see that the condemned has time to make all her appeals, 
let them be to the authorities here, or to the more dreaded 
Power above.” 

“ I am taken so much by surprise, your honor, at a ver- 
dict that, to say the least, is given on very doubtful testi- 
mony, that I hardly know what to urge. As the court, 
however, is disposed to indulgence, and there will be time 
to look at the law of the case, as well as to address our 
petitions and affidavits to the authority at Albany, I shall 
interpose no objection ; and, as your honor well remarks, 
since the painful duty must be discharged, it were better, 
perhaps, that it were discharged now.” 

“Prisoner at the bar,” resumed the judge, “you have 
heard the finding of the jury, in your case. A verdict of 
* guilty ’ has been rendered, and it has become my painful 
duty to pronounce the awful sentence of the law. If you 
have anything to say previously to this, the last and most 
painful of all my duties, the court will give your words a 
kind and lenient hearing.” 

In the midst of a stillness that seemed supernatural, the 
sweet melodious voice of Mary Monson was heard, “ first 
gentle, almost inaudible,” but gathering strength as she 
proceeded, until it became clear, distinct, and silvery. 
There are few things that impart a higher charm than the 
voice ; and the extraordinary prisoner possessed an organ 
which, while it was feminine and sweet, had a depth and 
richness that at once denoted her power in song. On the 
present occasion it was not even tremulous. 

“ I believe I understand you, sir,” Mary Monson com- 
menced. “ I have been tried and found guilty of having 
murdered Peter and Dorothy Goodwin, after having robbed 
them, and then of setting fire to the house.” 

“ You have been tried for the murder of Peter Goodwin, 
only, the indictments for the second murder, and for the 
arson, not having yet been tried. The court has been 

23 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3S4 

obliged to separate the cases, lest the law be defeated on 
mere technicalities. This verdict renders further proceed- 
ings unnecessary, and the two remaining indictments will 
probably never be traversed.” 

“ I believe I still understand you, sir ; and I thank you 
sincerely for the kind manner in which you have com- 
municated these facts, as well as for the consideration and 
gentleness you have manifested throughout these proceed- 
ings. It has been very kind in you, sir ; and whatever 
may come of this, God will remember and reward you for 
it.” 

“The court will hear you, Mary Monson, if you have 
anything to say, before sentence be passed.” 

“ Perhaps I might say and do much to affect your decis- 
ion, sir,” returned the prisoner, leaning her fair browyfor 
a moment, on her hand, “ but there would be little satisfac- 
tion in it. It was my wish to be acquitted on the testi- 
mony of the State. I did hope that this jury would not 
have seen the proofs of guilt, in the evidence that has been 
brought against me ; and I confess there would be very 
little satisfaction to me in any other acquittal. As I un- 
derstand the case, should I be acquitted as respects Peter 
Goodwin, I must still be tried as respects his wife ; and 
lastly, for setting fire to the house. 1 ’ 

“ You are not acquitted of the murder of Peter Good- 
win,” mildly interposed the judge ; “the finding of the 
court has been just to the contrary.” 

“ I am avrare of this, sir. America has many enemies. 
I have lived in foreign lands, and know this from near and 
long observation. There are those, and those, too, who are 
in power, that would gladly see the great example in pros- 
perity, peace and order, that this country has hitherto 
given to the world, beaten down by our own vices, and the 
mistaken uses to which the people put the blessings of 
Divine Providence. I do not reverence the justice of my 
country, as I did ; it is impossible that I should do so. I 
now see plainly that its agents are not all of the character 
they should be; and that, so far from Justice’s being blind 
through her impartiality alone, she is also blind through 
her ignorance. Why am I found guilty of this act? On 
what evidence — or even on what probability ? The whole of 
the proof is connected with that piece of money. Mrs. Bur- 
ton has testified that Mrs. Goodwin, herself, admitted that I 
had given her that coin — just what I told the coroner, and 
which I then saw was not believed, for it has been my 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


355 


misfortune to be tried by strangers. Will these gentlemen 
ask themselves why I have committed the crime of which 
they have found me guilty? It could not be for money ; 
as of that I have, of my own, more than I want, more, per- 
haps, than it is good for me to be mistress of.” 

“Why have not these facts been shown to the jury, at 
the proper time and in the proper manner, if true?” de- 
manded the judge, kindly. “ They are material, and might 
have influenced the verdict.” 

The jury was discharged, but not one of them all had 
left the box. One or two of them now arose, and looks 
of doubt and indecision began to flicker over their coun- 
tenances. They had been influenced by one man, a friend 
and political confidant of Williams, who had led the un- 
decided to his own opinions. We do not mean to say that 
this man was perjured, or that he was himself conscious of 
the extent of the wrong he was doing ; but his mind had 
been perverted by the serpent-like report, and he had tried 
the cause under the influence of rumors, which had no 
foundation in truth. The case was one of honest doubt, as 
no one will deny ; but instead of giving the accused the 
benefit of this doubt, as by law and in reason he was bound 
to do, he had taken a bias altogether from outside influ- 
ences, and that bias he communicated to others, until by 
the sheer force of numbers, the few who wavered were 
driven into a corner, and soon capitulated. Then, there 
was a morbid satisfaction in the minds of several of the 
jurors, in running counter to the charge of the judge. 
This was a species of independence that is grateful to 
some men, and they are guided by their vanity, when they 
fancy they are only led by conscience. These malign 
influences were unknown to themselves; for not one of 
the twelve was absolutely corrupt, but neither of them all 
was qualified by nature, or education, to be a judge, freed 
from the influence of the bench, in a case affecting a 
human life. 

Any one in the least observant of what is going on around 
him, must have had many opportunities of perceiving how 
strangely juries render their verdicts, and how much the 
last appear to be opposed to the inferences of the looker- 
on, as well as to the expressed opinions of the courts. 
The falling off in the power of the judges over the minds 
of the jurors, we suppose to be derived from a combination 
of causes. The tendencv of the times is to make mencon- 
fident in their own judgments, and to defer less than for- 


356 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


merly to knowledge and experience. Seeing this very 
general trait, the judges themselves defer to the tendency, 
manifest less confidence in their station and knowledge 
and perhaps really feel it ; while the unceasing cry of the 
infallibility of the common mind, induces the vulgar, or 
average intellect, to shrink from any collision with that 
which wears the semblance, even though simulated, of the 
popular will. In this way is the institution of the jury 
gradually getting to be perverted, rendering that which is 
safe as an hufnan tribunal can well be, when under the 
guidance of the court, as dangerous as ignorance, party, 
self-will and obstinacy can well make it. 

“I do not know/’ resumed Mary Monson, “that one ,is 
yet obliged, in America, to lay open her account-books, 
and show her rent-roll, or her bonds and mortgages, in 
order to avoid the gallows. I have been told that crime 
must be brought home by unanswerable proof, in order to 
convict. Who can say that such has been adduced in my 
case ? It has not even been made certain that a man was 
killed, at all. Most respectable witnesses have testified 
that they believe those revolting remains of poor humanity, 
belonged once to women. Nor has it been shown that 
any one has been murdered. The fire may have been ac- 
cidental, the deaths a simple consequence of the fire, and 
no one guilty.” 

“ You forget, Mary Monson,” interposed the judge, 
mildly, “ that the robbery, and the piece of money found 
in your purse, give a color to the supposition of crime. 
The jury have doubtless been influenced by these facts, 
and important facts they are. No one can deny this ; and 
I think you overlook that feature of your case. If, how- 
ever, your counsel has any good reason to offer why sen- 
tence should not now be pronounced, the court will hear 
it. There is no impatience on the part of justice, which 
would much rather draw in than stretch forth its arm. 
Perhaps, Mary Monson, you might do well to leave to your 
counsel the objections you wish to urge, and let them be 
presented to us in a form that we can recognize.” 

“ I see no great use in deferring the sentence,” Duns- 
comb remarked, quietly enough for the circumstances. 
“ It must be pronounced ; and any question of law, should 
one occur to my mind, though I confess none does at pres- 
ent, can as well be raised after this ceremony as before.” 

“ I am disposed to wait, if a good reason can be urged 
for the delay. I will acknowledge that the case is one in- 


THE IV AYS OF THE HOUR. 


357 


volved in a great deal of doubt and uncertainty, and am 
much inclined to do all the law will sanction. Still, I leave 
you to decide on your own course.” 

“ In my judgment, may it please your honor, we shall 
have to go to the executive, and it were, perhaps, better to 
get all the most revolting parts of the case over, while the 
accused -” 

“Convicted, Mr. Dunscomb — it is a distinction painful 
to make, but one that cannot now be avoided.” 

“ I beg pardon of the court— convicted.” 

“ Yes,” said Mary Monson, solemnly, “ I am convicted, 
and of the revolting crime of murder. All my hopes of a 
triumphant acquittal are blasted ; and, whatever may be 
the termination of this extraordinary affair, a dark spot 
will always rest on my name. Sir, I am as innocent of this 
crime as the youngest child in your county. I may have 
been wilful, perverse, ill-judging, unwise, and have a hun- 
dred other failings ; but neither Peter nor Dorothy Good- 
win did I ever harm. I had not been long in the house 
before I discovered that the old couple were not happy 
together. They quarrelled often, and bitterly. The wife 
was managing, dictatorial, and sordidly covetous, while he 
used every shilling he could obtain, for the purchase of 
liquors. His mind was affected by his debauches, and he 
drivelled. In this state, he came to me for sympathy and 
advice. There were passages in my own past life, short as 
it has been, which disposed me to feel for one who was not 
happy in the married state. It is no matter what my own 
experience has been ; I had sympathy for that poor man. 
So far from wishing to do him harm, I desired to do him 
good. I advised him to quit the house, and live apart 
from his wife, for a time, at least ; and this he consented 
to do, if I would furnish him with the means. Those means 
I promised ; and, that he might not suffer, being of only 
feeble intellect, and in order to keep him from liquor, I 
had directed two of my agents to come to the house early 
in the morning of the very day that the fire happened, that 
they might convey Peter Goodwin to another residence, 
where he would be secret and safe, until his wife might 
repent of her treatment of him. It was fortunate for me 
that I had done this. Those two men, servants of my own, 
in the dress of countrymen, were the instruments of saving 
my life ; without their aid, I should have perished in the 
flames. What they did, and how they did it, it would be 
premature now to say. Alas ! alas ! I have not been ac- 


358 


THE IV A VS OF THE HOUR. 


quitted as I desired to be, and a dark shadow will forever 
rest on my name ! ” 

For the first time, a doubt of the sanity of the prisoner 
crossed the mind of the judge. It was iiot so much the 
incoherence of her language, as her eye, the flushed cheek, 
and a certain air of stealthy cunning, that awakened this 
distrust. Nevertheless, Mary Monson’s manner was sin- 
cere, her language chosen and perfectly proper, and her 
explanations not without their force. There was some- 
thing so strange, however, in a portion of her statements ; 
so irreconcilable with a sound discretion, that, taken with 
the little which had come to light concerning this singular 
woman’s past life, the doubt arose. 

“Perhaps it were better, Mr. District Attorney,” the 
judge observed, “if we delay the sentence.” 

“As your honor may think fit. The State is not over- 
anxious for life.” 

“ What say you, Mr. Dunscomb — shall there be delay, 
or shall I sentence ?” 

“As the sentence must come, the sooner it is over, the 
better. We have no ground on which to carry up the case, 
the jury being judges of the facts. Our principal hope 
must be in the discretion of the governor.” 

“ Mary Monson,” continued the judge, evidently treating 
the affair as purely a matter of form, “you have been tried 
for feloniously depriving Peter Goodwin of his life- ” 

“I never did it,” interrupted the prisoner, in a voice so 
low as to be melodious, yet so clear as to be audible as the 
sound of a clarion. “These men Have been influenced by 
the rumors they have heard, and were not fit to act as my 
judges. Men should have minds 'superior to mere reports 
to sit in that box.” 

“ My duty is to pronounce the sentence of the law. After 
a fair trial, and, so far as it appears to us, by an impartial 
jury, you have been found guilty. For reasons that are of 
sufficient weight to my mind, I shall not dwell on the 
character of the awful change you will have to undergo, 
should this decree be put in force, but confine myself 
simply to the duty of pronouncing the sentence of the 
law, which is this : that you be carried back to the jail, 
and there be guarded, until Friday, the sixth day of Sep- 
tember next, when between the hours of twelve and two 
t.m., you be carried to the place of execution, and hanged 
by the neck, until you are dead — and God, have mercy" on 
your soul ! ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


359 


A shudder passed through the audience, at hearing 
language like this applied to a person of Mary Mon- 
son’s appearance, education and sex. This feeling might 
have manifested itself more strongly, had not Mrs. Horton 
attracted attention to herself, by forcing her way through 
the crowd, until she stood within the bar. Here the good 
woman, accustomed to bandy words with her guests, did 
not scruple to make her presence known to the court, by 
calling out — 

“ They tell me, your honor, that Mary Monson has just 
been found guilty of the murder of Peter Goodwin ? ” 

“ It is so, my good woman — but that case is ended. Mr. 
Sheriff, remove the prisoner- — time is precious— — ” 

“Yes, your honor, and so is eternity. Mary Monson is 
no more guilty of taking the life of Peter Goodwin than I 
am guilty. I’ve always said some great disgrace would be- 
fall our juries, one of these days, and now my prophecy 
will come true. Dukes is disgraced. Constable* let that 
poor man come within the bar.” 

The drivelling creature wha entered the room of Mc- 
Brain tottered forward, when twenty voices cried aloud 
the name of “ Peter Goodwin ” Every word that Mary 
Monson had stated was true ! 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Now Marcia, now call up to thy assistance, 

Thy wonted strength and constancy of mind ; 

Thou can’st not put it to a greater trial. — Addison. 

Bench, bar, jury, witnesses and audience, were all as- 
tounded. The trial had been carried on in the most per- 
fect good faith ; and not a human being but the few who 
had felt the force of McBrain’s testimony, doubted of the 
death of the individual who now appeared alive, if not 
well, in open court. The reader can better imagine than 
we can describe, the effects of a resurrection so entirely 
unexpected. 

When the confusion naturally produced by such a scene 
had a little subsided ; when all had actually seen, and many 
had actually felt, the supposed murdered man, as if to as- 
sure themselves of his being really in the flesh, order was 
restored ; and the court and bar began to reflect on the 
course next to be pursued. 


36 ° 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“I suppose, Mr. District Attorney,” observed his honor, 
“ there is no mistake in the person of this individual ; but 
it were better if we had an affidavit or two. Will you walk 
this way, sir ?” 

A long, private conference, now took place between the 
public prosecutor and the judge. Each expressed his as- 
tonishment at the result, as well as some indignation at 
the deception which had been practised on the court. 
This indignation was a little mollified by the impression, 
now common to both, that Mary Monson was a person not 
exactly in her right mind. There was So much deception 
practised among persons accused of crimes, however, and 
in connection with this natural infirmity, that public func- 
tionaries like themselves were necessarily very cautious in 
admitting the plea. The most offensive part of the whole 
affair was the discredit brought on the justice of Dukes ! 
It was not in nature for these individuals to be insensible 
to the sort of disgrace the reappearance of Peter Goodwin 
entailed on the county and circuit ; and there was a very 
natural desire to wipe off the stain. The conference lasted 
until the affidavits to establish the facts connected with 
Goodwin’s case were ready. 

“ Had these affidavits been presented earlier,” said his 
honor, as soon as the papers were read, “sentence would 
not have been pronounced. The case is novel, and I shall 
want a little time to reflect on the course I am to take. 
The sentence must be gotten rid of by some means or 
other ; and it shall be my care to see it done. I hope, 
brother Dunscomb, the counsel for the accused have not 
been parties to this deception ?” 

“I am as much taken by surprise as your honor can 
possibly be,” returned the party addressed, with earnest- 
ness, “ not having had the most remote suspicion of the 
existence of the man said to have been murdered ; else 
would all the late proceedings have been spared. As to 
the course to be taken next, I would respectfully suggest 
that the Code be examined. It is an bmnium gatherum ; 
and must contain something to tell us how to undo all we 
have done.” 

“ It were better for all parties had there so been. There 
are still two indictments pending over Mary Monson : one 
for the arson, and the other for the murder of Dorothy 
Goodwin. Mr. District Attorney feels the necessity of 
trying these cases, or one of them at least, in vindication 
of the justice of the State and county ; and I am inclined 


361 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

to think that, under all the circumstances, this course 
should be taken. I trust we shall have no more sur- 
prises, and that Dorothy Goodwin will be brought forward 
at once, if still living — time is precious.” 

“ Dorothy Goodwin is dead,” said Mary Monson, sol- 
emnly, “ Poor woman ! she was called away suddenly, 
and in her sins. Little fear of her ever coming here to 
flout your justice.” 

“ It may be well to caution your client, Mr. Dunscomb, 
against hasty and indiscreet admissions. Let the accused 
be arraigned, and a jury be impanelled. Which case do 
you choose to move on, Mr. District Attorney ? ” 

Dunscomb saw that his honor was offended, and much 
in earnest. He was offended himself, and half disposed 
to throw up his brief ; but he felt for the situation of a 
lovely and defenceless woman. Then his doubts touching 
his client’s sanity began to take the character of certainty ; 
and he saw how odious it would be to abandon one so 
afflicted in her emergency. He hinted his suspicion to 
the court ; but was told that the fact, under all the cir- 
cumstances -of the case, was one properly for the jury. 
After reflection, the advocate determined not to desert his 
trust. 

We pass over the preliminary proceedings. A jury was 
impanelled with very little difficulty ; not a challenge hav- 
ing been made. It was composed, in part, of those who 
had been in the box on the late occasion ; and in part of 
new men. There was an air of earnestness and business 
about them all, that Timms did not like, but.it was too late 
to raise objections. To own the truth, the senior counsel 
cared much less than before for the result ; feeling satisfied 
that his contemplated application at Albany would meet 
with consideration. It is true, Mary Monson was no anti- 
renter. She could not come forward with her demand for 
mercy with hands dyed in the blood Of an officer of that 
public which lives under the deception of fancying it rules 
the land ; murderers who added to their crimes the hateful 
and pestilent fraud of attempting to cloak robbery in the 
garb of righteous liberty ; nor could she come sustained 
by numbers around the ballot-box, and bully the executive 
into acts which the reason and conscience of every honest 
man condemn ; but Dunscomb believed that she might 
come with the plea of a being visited by the power of her 
Creator, in constituting her as she was, a woman not mor- 
ally accountable for her acts. 


3 62 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


All the leading facts, as shown on the former trial, were 
shown on this. When the country practitioners were 
nailed on to give their opinions concerning the effect of 
the blow, they necessarily became subject to the cross- 
examination of the counsel for the prisoner, who did not 
spare them. 

“Were you examined, sir, in the late trial of Mary Mon- 
son, for the murder of Peter Goodwin ?” demanded Duns- 
comb of the first of these modern Galens who was put on 
the stand. 

“ I was, sir.” 

“ What did you say on that occasion ” — looking at his 
notes of the other trial — “ touching the sex of the per 
sons to whom those skeletons were thought to have be- 
longed ? ” 

“ I said I believed — not knew , but believed , they were the 
remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin.” 

“ Did you not use stronger language than that ? ” 

“ Not that I remember. I may have done so ; but I do 
not remember it.” 

“ Did you not say you had 1 no doubt ’ that those were the 
remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin?” 

“I may have said as much as that. Now you mention 
the words, I believe I did.” 

“ Do you think so now ? ” 

“ Certainly not. I cannot think so, after what I have 
seen.” 

“ Do you know Peter Goodwin, personally ? ” 

“ Very well. I have practised many years in this neigh- 
borhood.” 

“ Whom, then, do you say that this unfortunate man 
here, whom we see alive, though a driveller, really is ? ” 

“Peter Goodwin — -he who was thought to have been 
murdered. We are all liable to mistakes.” 

“You have testified in chief that, in your judgment, the 
two persons, of whom we have the remains here in court, 
were stunned at least, if not absolutely killed, by the blow 
that you think fractured each of their skulls. Now, I 
would ask if you think the prisoner at the bar possesses 
the physical force necessary to enable her to strike such a 
blow ? ” 

“ That would depend on the instrument she used. A 
human skull may be fractured easily enough by a moder- 
ate blow struck by a heavy instrument.” 

“ What sort of instrument, for instance ? ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 363 

“ A sword — a bar of iron — or anything that has weight 
and force.” 

“ Do you believe those fractures were given by the same 
blow ? ” 

“I do. By one and the same blow.” 

“Do you think Mary Mpnson possesses the strength 
necessary to cause those two fractures at a single blow ? ” 

Witness had no opinion on the subject. 

“Are the fractures material ? ” 

“ Certainly — and must have required a heavy blow to 
produce them.” 

This was all that could be got from either of the wit- 
nesses on that material point. As respected McBrain, he 
was subsequently examined in reference to the same facts. 
Dunscomb made good use of this witness, who now com- 
manded the respect of all present. In the first place he 
was adroitly offered to the jury, as the professional man 
who had, from the first, given it as his opinion that both 
the skeletons were those of females ; and this in the face 
of all the collected wisdom of Dukes County ; an opinion 
that was now rendered so probable as almost to amount to 
certainty. He (Dunscomb) believed most firmly that the 
remains were those of Dorothy Goodwin and the German 
woman who was missing. 

“Have you examined these skeletons, Dr. McBrain ? ” 
Dunscomb asked. 

“ I have, sir ; and carefully, since the late trial.” 

“ How do you think the persons to whom they belonged 
came to their deaths ? ” 

“ I find fractures in the skulls of both. If they lie now 
as they did when the remains were found (a fact that had 
been proved by several witnesses), I am of the opinion 
that a single blow inflicted the injuries on both ; it may be 
that blow was not sufficient to produce death ; but it must 
have produced a stupor, or insensibility, which would pre- 
vent the parties from seeking refuge against the effects of 
the flames ” 

“ Is the learned witness brought to sum up the cause ?” 
demanded Williams, with one of those demoniacal sneers 
of his, by means of which he sometimes carried off a ver- 
dict. “ I wish to know, that I may take notes of the course 
of this argument.” 

McBrain drew back, shocked and offended. He was 
naturally diffident, as his friend used to admit, in everything 
but wives : and as regarded them “ he had the impudence 


3 6 4 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


of the devil. Ned would never give up the trade until he 
had married a dozen, if the law would see him out in it. 
He ought to have been a follower of the great Mohammed, 
who made it a point to take a new wife at almost every 
new moon ! ” The judge did not like this sneer of Williams ; 
and this so much the less, because, in common with all 
around him, he had imbibed a profound respect for the 
knowledge of the witness. It is true, he was very much 
afraid of the man, and dreaded his influence at the polls ; 
but he really had too much conscience to submit to every- 
thing. A judge may yet have a conscience — if the code 
will let him. 

“This is very irregular, Mr. Williams, not to say im- 
proper,” his honor mildly remarked. “ The witness has said 
no more than he has a right to say ; and the court must 
see him protected. Proceed with your testimony, sir.” 

“ I have little more to say, if it please the court,” re- 
sumed McBrain, too much dashed to regain his self-posses- 
sion in a moment. As this was all Williams wanted, he 
permitted him to .proceed in his own way; and all the 
doctor had to say was soon told to the jury. The counsel 
for the prosecution manifested great tact in not cross- 
examining the witness at all. In a subsequent stage of 
the trial, Williams had the impudence to insinuate to the 
jury that they did not attach sufficient importance to his 
testimony, to subject him to this very customary ordeal. 

But the turning point of this trial, as it had been that of 
the case which preceded it, was the evidence connected 
with the piece of money. As the existence of the notch 
was now generally known, it was easy enough to recognize 
the coin that had been found in Mary Monson’s purse ; thus 
depriving the accused of one of her simplest and best 
means of demonstrating the ignorance of the witnesses. 
The notch, however, was Mrs. Burton’s great mark, under 
favor of which her very material testimony was now given 
as it had been before. 

Dunscomb was on the point of commencing the cross- 
examination, when the clear melodious voice of Mary Mon- 
son herself was heard for the first time since the commence- 
ment of the trial. 

“ Is it permitted to me to question this witness? ” demanded 
the prisoner. 

“ Certainly,” answered the judge. “It is the right of 
every one who is arraigned by the country. Ask any 
question that you please.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 365 

This was a somewhat liberal decision as to the right of 
cross-examining, and the accused put on it a construction 
almost as broad as the privilege. As for the witness, it was 
very apparent she had little taste for the scrutiny that she 
probably foresaw she was about to undergo ; and her 
countenance, attitude, and answers, each and all betrayed 
how much distaste she had for the whole procedure. As 
permission was obtained, however, the prisoner did not 
hesitate to proceed. 

“ Mrs. Burton,” said Mary Monson, adopting, as well as 
she knew how, the manner of the gentlemen of the bar, 
“ I wish you to tell the court and jury when you first saw 
the notched piece of money?” 

“ When I first saw it ? I saw it first, when Aunt Dolly 
first showed it to me,” answered the witness. 

Most persons would have been dissatisfied with this an- 
swer, and would probably have caused the question to be 
repeated in some other form ; but Mary Monson seemed 
content, and went on putting her questions, just as if she 
had obtained answers to meet her views. 

“ Did you examine it well ? ” 

“As well as I desired to. There was nothing to prevent 
it.” 

“ Did you know it immediately, on seeing it in my 
purse ? ” 

“Certainly — as soon as I saw the notch.” 

“Did Mrs. Goodwin point out the notch to you, or did 
you point out the notch to her ? ” 

“ She pointed it out to me ; she feared that the notch 
might lessen the value of the coin.” 

“All this I have heard before ; but I now ask you, Mrs. 
Burton, in the name of that Being whose eye is every- 
where, did you not yourself put that piece of money in 
my purse, when it was passing from hand to hand, and 
take out of it the piece without a notch ? Answer me, as 
you have a regard for your soul ? ” 

Such a question was altogether out of the rules regulat- 
ing the queries that may be put to witnesses, an answer 
in the affirmative going directly to criminate the respond- 
ent ; but the earnest manner, solemn tones, and, we may 
add, illuminated countenance of Mary Monson, so far im- 
posed on the woman, that she quite lost sight of her rights, 
if she ever knew them. What is much more remarkable, 
neither of the counsel for the prosecution interposed an 
objection. The district attorney was willing that justice 


3 66 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


should have its way ; and Williams began to think it might 
be prudent to manifest less anxiety for a conviction than 
he had done in the case in which the party murdered had 
been resuscitated. The judge tvas entranced by the pris- 
oner’s manner. , 

“I believe I have as, much regard for my soul as any 
of the neighbors have for theirs,” answered Mrs. Burton, 
sullenly. 

“Let us learn. that in your reply. Did you, or did you 
not, change those pieces of gold?” 

“ Perhaps I might. It’s hard to say, when so much was 
said and done.” 

“ How came you with the other piece, with which to • 
make the exchange ? Answer, Sarah Burton, as you fear 
God?” 

The witness trembled like an aspen-leaf. So remarkable 
was the scene, that no one thought of interfering ; but the 
judge, the bar, and the jury, seemed equally willing to 
leave the two females to themselves, as the most efficient 
means of extorting the truth. Mary Monson’s color 
heightened; her mien and countenance grew, as it were, 
with the occasion ; while Sarah Burton’s became paler 
and paler, as each question was put, and the reply pressed. 

“ I can have money, I hope, as well as other folks,” 
answered the witness. 

“That is no reply. How came you with the piece of 
gold that is notched, that you could exchange it for the 
piece which was not notched, and which was the one really 
found in my purse ? Answer me that, Sarah Burton ; 
here, where we both stand in the presence of our great 
Creator ? ” 

“ There’s no need of your pressing a body so awfully — I 
don’t believe it’s law.” 

“ I repeat the question — or I will answer it for you. 
When you fired the house ” 

The woman screamed, and raised her hands in natural 
horror. 

“ I never set the house on fire,” she cried. “ It took 
from the stove-pipe in the garret, where it had taken twice 
before.” 

“ How can you know that , unless you saw it ? How see 
it, unless present?” 

“ I was not there, and did not see it ; but I know the 
garret had caught twice before from that cook-stove pipe. 
Aunt Dolly was very wrong to neglect it as she did.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


3 6 7 

“And the blows on the head — who struck those blows, 
Sarah Burton ? ” 

“ How can I tell ? I wasn’t there — no one but a fool 
could believe you have strength to do it.” 

“ How, then, was it done ? Speak— I see it in your 
mind ? ” 

“I saw the plowshare lying on the heads of the skele- 
tons ; and I saw Moses Steen throw it off, in the confusion 
of first raking the embers. Moses will be likely to remem- 
ber it, if sent for, and questioned.” 

Here was a most important fact elicited under the im- 
pulse of self-justification ; and a corresponding expression 
of surprise passed in a murmur, through the audience. The 
eye of Mary Monson kindled with triumph ; and she con- 
tinued with renewed powers of command over the will and 
conscience of the witness. 

“This is well, Sarah Burton — it is right, and what you 
ought to say. You think that the fire was accidental, and 
that the fractured skulls came from the fall of the plow?” 

“ I do. I know that the plow stood in the garret, di- 
rectly over the bed, and the stove-pipe passed quite near 
it. There was an elbow in that pipe, and the danger was 
at that elbow.” 

“ This is well ; and the eye above looks on you with less 
displeasure, Sarah Burton” — as this was said, the witness 
turned her eyes timidly upward, as if to assure herself of 
the fact. “ Speak holy truth, and it will soon become be- 
nignant and forgiving. Now tell me how you came by 
the stocking and its contents ?” 

“ The stocking ! ’’ said the witness, starting, and turning 
white as a sheet. “Who says I took the stocking?” 

“ I do. I know it by that secret intelligence which has 
been given me to discover truth. Speak, then, Sarah, and 
tell the court and jury the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth.” 

“Nobody saw me take it ; and nobody can say I took it.” 

“Therein you are mistaken. You were seen to take it. 
I saw it, for one ; but there was another who saw it, with 
its motive, whose eye is ever on us. Speak, then, Sarah, 
and keep nothing back.” 

“ I meant no harm, if I did take it. There was so many 
folks about, I was afraid that some stranger might lay 
hands on it. That’s all.” 

“ You were seen to unlock the drawers, as you stood alone 
near the bureau, in the confusion and excitement of the 


368 THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

finding of the skeletons. You did it stealthily, Sarah Bur- 
ton.” 

“ I was afraid some one might snatch the stocking from 
me. I always meant to give it up, as soon as the law said 
to whom it belongs. Davis wants it, but I’m not sure it is 
his/’ 

“ What key did you use ? Keep nothing back.” 

“ One of my own. My keys unlocked many of Aunt 
Dolly’s drawers. She knew it, and never found any fault 
with it. Why should she ? Her keys unlocked mine ! ” 

“Another word — where is that stocking, and where are 
its contents? ” 

“ Both are safe in the third drawer of my own bureau, 
and here is the key,” taking one from her bosom. “ I put 
them there for security, as no one opens that drawer but 
myself.” 

Timms took the key from the unresisting hand of the 
woman, and followed by Williams, Davis, and one or two 
more, he left the court-house. At that instant, Sarah 
Burton fainted. In the confusion of removing her into 
another room, Mary Monson resumed her seat. 

“Mr. District Attorney, it can hardly be your intention 
to press this indictment any further?” observed the judge, 
wiping his eyes, and much delighted with the unexpected 
termination of the affair. 

The functionary addressed was glad enough to be rid 
of his unwelcome office, and at once signified his willing- 
ness to enter a nolle prosequi, by an application to the bench, 
in the case of the arson, and to submit to an acquittal in 
that now being traversed. After a brief charge from the 
judge, the jury gave a verdict of acquittal, without leaving 
the box ; and just as this was done, Timms and his com- 
panions returned, bringing with them the much-talked of 
stocking. 

It required months completely to elucidate the whole 
affair ; but so much is already known, and this part of our 
subject being virtually disposed of, we may as well make 
a short summary of the facts, as they were already in 
proof, or as they have since come to light. 

The fire was accidental, as has been recently ascertained 
by circumstances it is unnecessary to relate. Goodwin had 
left his wife, the night before the accident, and she had 
taken the German woman to sleep with her. As the gar- 
ret floor above this pair was consumed, the plow fell, its 
share inflicting the blow which stunned them, if it did not 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 369 

inflict even a greater injury. That part of the house was 
first consumed, and the skeletons were found, as has been 
related, side by side. In the confusion of the scene, Sarah 
Burton had little difficulty in opening the drawer, and re- 
moving the stocking. She fancied herself unseen ; but 
Mary Monson observed the movement, though she had 
then no idea what was abstracted. The unfortunate de- 
linquent maintains that her intention, at the time, was 
good ; or, that her sole object was to secure the gold ; but 
is obliged to confess that the possession of the treasure 
gradually excited her cupidity, until she began to hope 
that this hoard might eventually become her own. The 
guilty soonest suspect guilt. As to “ the pure, all things 
are pure,” so it is with the innocent, who are the least in- 
clined to suspect others of wicked actions. Thus was it 
with Mrs. Burton. In the commission of a great wrong 
herself, she had little difficulty in supposing that Mary 
Monson was the sort of person that rumor made her out 
to be. She saw no great harm, then, in giving a shove to 
the descending culprit. When looking into the stocking, 
she had seen, and put in her own' pocket, the notched 
piece, as a curiosity, there being nothing more unusual in 
the guilty thus incurring unnecessary risks, than there is 
in the moth’s temerity in fluttering around the candle. 
When the purse of Mary Monson was examined, as usually 
happens on such occasions, we had almost said as always 
happens, in the management of cases that are subsequent- 
ly to form a part of the justice of the land, much* less at- 
tention was paid to the care of that purse than ought to 
have been bestowed on it. Profiting by the neglect, Sarah 
Burton exchanged the notched coin for the perfect piece, 
unobserved, as she again fancied ; but once more the watch- 
ful eye of Mary Monson was on her. The first time the 
woman w r as observed by the last, it was accidentally ; but. 
suspicion once aroused, it was natural enough to keep a 
lookout on the suspected party. The act was seen, and at 
the moment that the accused thought happy, the circum- 
stance was brought to bear on the trial. Sarah Burton 
maintains that, at first, her sole intention was to exchange 
the imperfect for the perfect coin ; and that she was in- 
duced to swear to the piece subsequently produced, as that 
found on Mary Monson’s person, as a literal fact, ignorant 
of what might be its consequences. Though the devil 
doubtless leads us on, step by step, deeper and deeper, 
into crime and sin, it is probable that, in this particular, the 
24 


370 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


guilty woman applied a flattering unction to her conscience, 
that the truth would have destroyed. 

Great was the wonder, and numberless were the para- 
graphs that this unexpected issue of the “great Biberry 
murders ” produced. As respects the last, anything that 
will fill a . column is a god-send, and the falsehood has even 
a value that is not to be found in the truth, as its contra- 
dictions will help along quite as much as the original state- 
ments. If the public could only be brought to see what a 
different thing publicity becomes in the hands of those who 
turn it to profit , from what it is thought to be by thosefwho 
fancy it is merely a mode of circulating facts, a great step 
toward a much-needed reformation would be taken, by con- 
fining the last within their natural limits. 

Mary Monson’s name passed from one end of the Union 
to the other, and thousands heard and read of this extra- 
ordinary woman, who never had the smallest clew to her 
real character or subsequent history. How few reflected 
on the defects of the system that condemned her to the 
gallows on insufficient testimony ; or, under another phase 
of prejudice, might have acquitted her when guilty ! The 
random decisions of the juries, usually well-meaning, but 
so rarely discriminating, or as intelligent as they ought to 
be, attract very little attention beyond the bar ; and even 
the members of that often strike a balance in error, with 
which they learn to be content ; gaining in one cause as 
much as they lose in another. 

There was a strong disposition in the people assembled 
at Biberry, on the occasion of the trial, to make a public 
spectacle of Mary Monson. The right to do this, with all 
things in heaven and earth, seems to belong to “ repub- 
lican simplicity,” which is beginning to rule th6 land with 
a rod of iron. Unfortunately for this feeling, the subject 
of momentary sympathy was not a person likely to allow 
such a license. She did not believe, because she had en- 
dured one set of atrocious wrongs, that she was bound to 
submit to as many more as gaping vulgarity might see fit 
to inflict. She sought the protection of good Mrs. Gott 
and her jail, some forms being necessary before the sen- 
tence of death could be legally gotten rid of. In vain were 
the windows again crowded, with the virtuous wish of see- 
ing how Mary Monson looked , , now she was acquitted, just 
as they had been previously thronged in order to ascertain 
how she looked when there was a chance of her being con- 
demned to the gallows. The most extraordinary part of 


37i 


THE WA YS OF., THE HOUR . 

the affair, was the circumstance that the harp became popu- 
lar ; the very sentiment, act, or thing that, in one condition 
of the common mind, is about to be “cut down and cast 
into the fire,” becoming, in another, all that is noble, com- 
mendable, or desirable. The crowd about the windows of 
the jail, for the first few hours after the acquittal, was 
dying to hear the prisoner sing and play, and would gladly 
have tolerated the harp and a “foreign tongue ” to be thus 
gratified. 

But Mary Monson was safe from all intrusion, under the 
locks of the delighted Mrs. Gott. This kind-hearted per- 
son kissed her prisoner, over and over again, when she ad- 
mitted her within the gallery, and then she went outside, 
and assured several of the more respectable persons in the 
crowd how thoroughly she had been persuaded, from the 
first, of the innocence of her friend. The circumstances 
of this important trial rendered Mrs. Gott a very distin- 
guished person herself, in that crowd, and never was a 
woman happier than she while delivering her sentiments 
on the recent events. 

“It’s altogether the most foolish trial we have ever had 
in Dukes, though they tell me foolish trials are getting to 
be only too common,” said the kind-hearted wife of the 
sheriff, addressing half a dozen of the more respectable of 
the crowd. “ It gave me a big fright, I will own. When 
Gott was elected sheriff, I did hope he would escape all 
executions but debt executions. The more he has of them, 
the better. It’s bad enough to escort thieves to Sing Sing ; 
but the gallows is a poor trade for a decent man to meddle 
with. Then, to have the very first sentence, one against 
Mary. Monson, who is as much above such a.punishment as 
virtue is above vice. When I heard those dreadful words, 
I felt as if a cord was round my own neck. But I had 
faith to the last ; Mary has always told me that she should 
be acquitted, and here it has all come true, at last.” 

“ Do you know, Mrs. Gott,” said one of her friends, “it 
is reported that this woman — or lady, I suppose one must 
now call her — has been in the habit of quitting the jail 
whenever she saw fit?” 

“ Hu-s-h, neighbor Brookes ; there is no need of alarm- 
ing the county! I believe you- are right though it was 
all done without my knowledge, or it never would have 
been permitted. It only shows the power of money. The 
locks are as good as any in the State ; yet Mary certainly 
did find means, unbeknown to me, to open them. It can’t 


3/2 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


be called breaking jail, since she always came back ! I 
had a good fright the first time I heard of it, but use 
reconciles us to all things. I never let Gott into the se- 
cret, though he’s responsible, as he calls it, for all his pris- 
oners.” 

“ Well, when a matter turns out happily, it does no good 
to be harping on it always/' 

Mrs. Gott assented, and in this case, as in a hundred 
others, the end was made to justify the means. But Mary 
Monson was felt to be an exception to all rules, and there 
was no longer any disposition to cavil at any of her pro- 
ceedings. Her innocence had been established so very tri- 
umphantly, that every person regarded her vagaries and 
strange conduct with indulgence. 

At that very moment, when Mrs. Gott was haranguing 
her neighbors at the door of the jail, Dunscomb was clos- 
eted with Michael Millington at the inn ; the young man 
having returned at hot-speed only as the court adjourned. 
He had been successful, notwithstanding his original dis- 
appointment, and had ascertained all about the hitherto 
mysterious prisoner of the Biberry jail. Mary Monson was, 
as Dunscomb suspected, Mildred Millington by birth- — 
Mme. de Larocheforte by marriage — -.and she was the grand- 
daughter of the very woman to whom he had been be- 
trothed in youth. Her insanity was not distinctly recog- 
nized, perhaps could not have been legally established, 
though it was strongly suspected by many who knew her 
intimately, and was a source of great uneasiness with all 
who felt an interest in her welfare. Her marriage wasun- 
happy, and it was supposed she had taken up her abode in 
the cottage of the Goodwins to avoid her husband. The 
command of money gave her a power to do very much as 
she pleased, and, though the breath of calumny had never 
yet blown its withering blast on her name, she erred in 
many things that are duties as grave as that of being 
chaste. The laws came in aid of her whims and ca- 
prices. There is no mode by which an errant wife can be 
made to perform her duties in boldly experimenting New 
York, though she can claim a support and protection from 
her husband. The “ cup-and-saucer ” law comes in aid of 
this power, and the men who cannot keep their wives in 
the chains of Hymen in virtue of the affections, may just 
as well submit, with a grace, to be the victims of an ill- 
judging and most treacherous regard for the rights of what 
are called the weaker sex. 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


373 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Why wilt thou add to all the griefs I suffer, 

Imaginary ills, and fancied tortures ? — Cato. 

The scene must now be shifted to Rattletrap. Biberry 
was deserted. Even the rumors with which its streets had 
been so lately filled, were already forgotten. None have 
memories as frail as the gossip. Not only does this class 
of persons — and a numerous class it is, including nearly 
all whose minds are not fitted to receive more elevated ma- 
terials — not only, we say, does this class of persons over- 
look the contradictions and absurdities of the stories they 
repeat, but they forget the stories themselves almost as 
soon as heard. Such was now the case at Biberry. Scarce 
an individual could be found in the place who would ac- 
knowledge that he or she had ever heard that Mary Mon- 
son was connected with robbers, or who could recollect 
that he once fancied the accused guilty. 

We may as well say here, that nothing has ever been 
done with Sarah Burton. She is clearly guilty ; but the 
law, in these times of progress, disdains to pursue the 
guilty. Their crimes are known ; and of what use can it 
be to expose those whom every one can see are offenders ? 
No, it is the innocent who have most reason to dread the 
law. They can be put to trouble, cost, vexation and loss, 
if they can not be exactly condemned. We see how thou- 
sands regard the law in a recent movement in the legisla- 
ture, by which suits have been ordered to try the titles of 
most of the large landed proprietors, with the very honest 
and modest proposal annexed, that their cases shall be pre- 
judged, and the landlords deprived of the means of defend- 
ing themselves, by sequestering their rents ! Everybody 
says this is the freest country on earth ; the only country 
that is truly free ; but we must be permitted to say, that 
such a law, like twenty more that have been passed in the 
same interest within the last ten years, savors a good deal 
of the character of a ukase. 

Our characters, with the exception of McBrain and his 
bride, were now assembled at Rattletrap. Dunscomb had 
ascertained all it was necessary to know concerning Mil- 
dred, and had taken the steps necessary to protect her. Of 
her. qualified insanity he did not entertain a doubt ; though 


374 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

it was a madness so concealed by the blandishments of 
education and the graces of a refined wgman, that few saw 
it, and fewer still wished to believe it true. On most sub- 
jects this unhappy lady was clear-minded and intelligent 
enough, more especially on that of money ; for, while her 
expenditures were generous, and her largesses most liberal, 
she manifested wonderful sagacity in taking care of her 
property. It was this circumstance that rendered it so 
difficult to take any steps to deprive her of its control ; 
though Dunscomb had seen enough, in the course of the 
recent trial, to satisfy him that such a measure ought to be 
resorted to in the interest of her own character. 

It was in cunning, and in all the low propensities con- 
nected with that miserable quality, that Mildred Milling- 
ton, as she now insisted on calling herself, most betrayed 
her infirmity. Many instances of it have been incidentally 
related in the course of our narrative, however unpleasant 
such an exhibition has been. There is nothing more re- 
pugnant to the principles or tastes of the right thinking 
and right feeling, than the practices which cunning en- 
genders. Timms, however, was a most willing agent in all 
the schemes of his client ; though some of her projects had 
puzzled him by their elaborate duplicity, as much as they 
had astounded him by their boldness. 

These were the schemes that had their origin in obli- 
quity of mind. Still they were not without merit in the 
eyes of Timms, who was cunning without being mad. 

Before quitting Biberry, Timms was liberally paid and 
dismissed. Dunscomb explained to him the situation of 
his handsome client, without adverting to the state of her 
mind, when the attorney at once caught at the chances of 
a divorce. Among the other “ways of the hour,” that of 
dissolving the marriage tie has got to be a sort of fashion- 
able mania. Neither time, nor duties, nor children, seem 
to interpose any material obstacle ; and, if our own laws 
do not afford the required facilities, those of some of our 
more liberal neighbors do. Timms keeps this principle in 
his mind, and is at this moment ruminating on the means 
by which he can liberate his late client from her present 
chains, and bind her ^new in some of his own forging. It 
is scarcely necessary to add, that Mildred troubles herself 
very little in the premises, so far as this covert lover is 
concerned. 

The ridicule of Williams was at first the sorest portion 
of Timms’s disappointment. Bachelors alike, and rivals 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


375 


for popular favor, these two worthies had long been look- 
ing Out for advantageous marriages. Each had the sagacity 
to see that his chances of making a more and more eligi- 
ble connection were increasing slowly, and than it was a 
great thing for a rising man to ascend without dragging 
after him a wife chosen from among those that prop the 
base of the great social ladder. It was nuts to one of these 
competitors for the smiles of the ladies to discover that 
his rival was in love with a married woman ; and this so 
much the more; because the prospects of Timms’s success 
arising from his seeming intimacy with the fair occupant 
of the jail, had given Williams a very serious fright. 
Place two men in competition, no matter in what, and all 
their energies become concentrated in rivalry. Again and 
again had these two individuals betrayed their mutual 
jealousy ; and now that one of them had placed himself 
in a position so false, not to say ridiculous, the other did 
not fail to enjoy his disappointment to the top of his bent. 
It was in this manner that Saucy Williams took his re- 
venge for the defeat in the trial. 

Mrs. Gott was also at Rattletrap. Dunscomb retained 
much of his original tenderness for Mildred, the grand- 
mother of his guest of that name, and he granted her de- 
scendant every indulgence she could ask. Among other 
things, one of the requests of the liberated prisoner was 
to be permitted to manifest this sense of her gratitude for 
the many acts of kindness received from the wife of the 
sheriff. Gott, accordingly, was left to take care of him- 
self, while his nice little companion was transported to a 
scene that she found altogether novel, of a temporary resi- 
dence in a gentleman’s dwelling. Sarah’s housekeeping, 
Sarah’s good nature, attentions, neatness, attire and attrac- 
tions, would have been themes to monopolize all of the 
good little woman’s admiration, had not Anna Updyke, 
then on a visit at Rattletrap, quite fairly come in for her 
full share. She might almost be said to be in love with 
both. 

It was just after breakfast that Mildred locked an arm 
in that of Anna, and led her young friend by one of the 
wooded paths that run along the shores of the Hudson, 
terminating in a summer-house, with a most glorious 
view. In this there was nothing remarkable; the eye 
rarely resting on any of the “bits” that adorn the banks 
of that noble stream, without taking in beauties to . en- 
chant it. But to all these our two lovely young women 


376 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


were momentarily as insensible as they were to the fact 
that their own charming forms, floating among shrubbery 
as fragrant as themselves, added in no slight degree to the 
beauty of the scene. In manner, Mildred was earnest, if 
not ardent, and a little excited ; on the other hand, Anna 
was placid, though sensitive, changing color without ceas- 
ing, as her thoughts were drawn nearer and nearer to that 
theme which now included the great object of her exist- 
ence. 

“ Your uncle brought me letters from town last evening, 
Anna, dear,” commenced the liberated lady ; “ one of them 
is from Monsieur de Larocheforte. Is that not strange?” 

“ What is there so strange in a husband writing to a 
wife ? To me it seems the most natural thing in the 
world.” 

“It does? I am surprised to hear you say so — you, 
Anna, whom I regarded as so truly my friend. I have 
discarded Monsieur de Larocheforte, and he ought to re- 
spect my pleasure.” 

“ It would have been better, my dear mamma, had you 
discarded him before marriage, instead of after.” 

“Ah — your dear mamma, indeed! I was your school- 
mamma, Anna, and well had it been for me had I been left 
to finish my education in my own country. Then I should 
have escaped this most unfortunate marriage ! Do not 
marry, Anna — take my advice and never marry. Matri- 
mony is unsuited to ladies.” 

“ How long have you been of this opinion, dear mam- 
ma?” asked the young girl, smiling. 

“Just as long as I have been made to feel how it 
crushes a woman’s independence, and how completely it 
gives her a master, and how very, very humiliating and 
depressing is the bondage it inflicts. Do you not feel the 
force of my reasons?” 

“ I confess I do not,” answered Anna, in a subdued, yet 
clear and distinct voice. “ I see nothing humiliating or 
depressing in a woman’s submission to her husband. It is 
the law of nature, and why should we wish to alter it ? 
My mother has ever inculcated such opinions, and you 
will excuse me if I say I think the Bible does, also.” 

“The Bible! Yes, that is a good book, though I am 
afraid it is very little read in France. I ought, perhaps, 
to say, ‘ read very little by strangers resident in France.’ 
The Frenchwomen themselves are not one-half as negli- 
gent of their duties, in this respect, as are the strangers 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


377 


who go to reside among them. When the roots, that have 
grown to any size in their native soil, are violently trans- 
planted to another, it is not often that the tree obtains its 
proper dimensions and grace. I wish I had never seen 
France, Anna, in which case I should never have been 
Madame de Larocheforte — vicomtesse , by the old law, and I 
am afraid it was that idle appellation that entrapped me. 
How much more truly respectable I should have been as 
Mrs. John Smith, or Mrs. John Brown, or Mrs. David 
Smith, the wife of a countryman, if I must be a wife at 

all r 

“ Choose at least some name of higher pretension/’ said 
Anna, laughing. “Why not a Mrs. Van Rensselaer, or a 
Mrs. Van Cortlandt, or a MrS. Livingston, or a Mrs. Some- 
body else, of one of our good old families ? ” 

“ Families ! Do you know, child, it is treason to talk of 
families in this age of anti-rentism. They tqll me that the 
man who makes an estate, may enjoy it, should he happen 
to know how, and this, though he may have cheated all he 
ever dealt with, in order to become rich ; but, that he who 
inherits an estate has no claim* It is his tenants who have 
the high moral claim to his father’s property.” 

“ I know nothing of all this, and would rather talk of 
things I understand.” 

“ By which you mean wedlock, and its cares! No, my 
dear, you little understand what matrimony is, or how 
much humiliation is required of us women to become 
wives, or you Would never think of marrying.” 

“I have never told you that I do think of marrying— 
that is, not much.” 

“ There spoke your honest nature, which will not permit 
even an unintended deception. This it was that so much 
attached me to you as a child ; for, though I am not very- 
ingenuous myself, I can admire the quality in another.” 

“ This admission does not exactly prove the truth of 
your words, mamma ! ” said Anna, smiling. 

“No matter — let us talk of matrimony. Has John Wil- 
meter proposed to you, Anna?” 

This was a home question ; no wonder the young lady 
started. After a short, musing pause, however, the native 
candor of Anna Updyke prevailed, and she admitted that 
he had. 

“ Thank you for this confidence ; but you must go fur- 
ther. Remember, I am your mamma. Is the gentleman 
accepted ?” 


373 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR, 


A rosy blush, succeeded by a nod of the, head, was the 
answer. 

“I am sorry I was not consulted before all this hap- 
pened ; though I have managed my own matters so ill, as 
to have very few claims to your confidence. You scarce 
know, what you undertake, my child.” 

“ I undertake to become Jack Wilmeter’s wife,” an- 
swered the betrothed, in a very low but a very firm voice ; 
“and I hope I shall make him. a good one. Most of all, 
do I pray to. be obedient and submissive.” 

, “ To no man that breathes, Anna ! — no, to no man breath- 
ing ! It is their business to submit to us ; not we to them ■! ” 

“This is not .my reading ,of the great rule. of woman’s 
conduct. In my view of our duties, it is the part of woman 
to be affectionate, mild, patient, and sympathizing— if nec- : 
essary, forgiving. I firmly believe that, in the end, such a 
woman cannot fail to be as happy as is permitted to us to 
be, here on earth.” 

“ Forgiving ! ” repeated Mildred, her eyes flashing, “yes, 
that is a word often used, yet how few truly practise its 
teachings? Why should I forgive any one that has 
wronged me'? Our nature tells us to resent, to punish, if, 
necessary, as you say — to revenge/’. 

A slight shudder passed through the frame of Anna, and 
she unconsciously moved further from her companion, 
though their arms still, continued locked. 

“There must be a great difference between France and 
America, if revenge is ever taught to a woman, as a part 
of her duty,” returned the younger female, now speaking 
with an earnestness she had not before betrayed ; “ here, 
we are told that Christianity forbids the very thought of 
it, and that to forgive is among the very first of our duties. 
My great instructor in such things has told me that one of 
the surest evidences of a hopeful state of the feelings is the 
banishment of everything like resentment, and a desire to 
be at peace with all around us — to have a perception that 
we love the race as beings of our wants and hopes.” 

“ Is this the sort of love, then, with which you give your 
hand to young Wilmeter ? ” 

Scarlet is not brighter than was the color that now 
glowed in the cheeks of Anna, stole into her temples, and 
even diffused itself over her neck and chest. To herself it 
seemed as if her very hands blushed. Then the power of 
innocence came to sustain her, and she became calm and 
steady. 


THE tVA VS OF THE HOUR. 


379 


“ It is not the feeling with which I shall marry John,” she 
said. “ Nature has given us another sentiment, and I shall 
not endeavor to be superior to all of my sex and class. I 
love John Wilmeter, I own; and I hope to make him 
happy.” 

“ To be a dutiful, obedient wife, forever studying his 
tastes and caprices ! ” 

“ I trust I shall not be forever studying the indulgence 
of my own. I see nothing degrading to a woman, in her 
filling the place nature and Christianity have assigned to 
her, and in her doing her duty as a wife.” 

“ These are not my feelings, receiving your terms as you 
wish them to be understood. But several have told me I 
ought never to have married ; I myself know that I should 
have been an American, and not a French wife.” 

“ I have ever heard that greater latitude is given to our 
sex, in France, than in this country.” 

“That is true in part only. Nothing can exceed the re- 
tenue of a French girl, or anything that is decent exceed 
the want of it that is manifested by many Americans. On 
the other hand, a married woman here has no privileges at 
all, not even in society; while in France, under an air of 
great seeming propriety, she does very much as she sees 
fit. It is a mistake, hpwever, to suppose that faithful wives, 
and devoted mothers, most ’especially the last, are not to be 
found all over Europe — in France, in particular.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” cried Anna, with a really gratified 
air ; “it gives me pleasure when I hear of any of our sex 
behaving as they should behave.” 

“ Should behave ! I fear, Anna, a little covert reproach 
is intended, in that remark. Our estimate of the conduct 
of our friends must depend on our notions of our own 
duties. Now, hearkes to my manner of reasoning on this 
subject. In a physical sense, man is strong, woman is 
weak ; while, in a moral sense, woman is strong and man 
is weak. You admit my premises ? ” 

“ The first part of them, certainly,” said Anna, laughing, 
“while I pretend to no knowledge of the last.” 

“ You surely do not believe that John Wilmeter is as 
pure, ingenuous, good, as you are yourself? ” 

“ I see no reason why he should not be. I am far from 
certain Jack is not even better.” 

“ It is useless to discuss such a subject with you. The 
principle of pride is wanting, without which you can never 
enter into my feelings.” 


38 ° 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ I am glad it is so. I fancy John will be all the hap- 
pier for it. Ah ! my dear mamma, I never knew any good 
come of what you call this ‘ principle of pride.’ We are 
told to be humble and not to be proud. It may be all the 
better for us females that rulers are given to us here, in 
the persons of our husbands.” 

“ Anna Updyke, do you marry John Wilmeter with the 
feeling that he is to rule ? You overlook the signs of the 
times, the ways of the hour, child, if you do aught so weak ! 
Look around, you, and see how everybody, almost every- 
thing, is becoming independent, our sex included. For- 
merly, as I have heard elderly persons say, if a woman 
suffered in her domestic relations, she was compelled to 
suffer all. The quarrel lasted for a life. Now, no one 
thinks of being so unreasonably wretched. No, the wronged 
wife, or even the offended wife — Monsieur de Laroche- 
forte snuffs abominably — abominably — yes, abominably — 
but no wife is obliged, in these times of independence and 
reason, to endure a snuffy husband ” 

“ No,” broke in Dunscomb, appearing from an adjoining 
path, “she has only to pack up her spoons and be off. 
The Code can never catch her. If it could on one page, 
my life for it there is a hole for hereto get out of its grasp 
on the next. Your servant, ladies ; I have been obliged to 
overhear more of your conversation than was intended for 
my ears, perhaps ; these paths running so close to each 
other, and you being so animated — and now, I mean to 
take an old man’s privilege, and speak my mind. In the 
first place, I shall deal with the agreeable. Anna, my love, 
Jack is a lucky fellow — far luckier than he deserves to be. 
You carry the right sentiment into wedlock. It is the right 
of the husband to be the head of his family ; and the wife 
who resists his authority is neither prudent nor a Christian. 
He may abuse it, it is true ; but, even then, so long as 
criminality is escaped, it were better to submit. I approve 
of every word you have uttered, dear, and thank you for it 
all in my nephew’s name. And now, Mildred, as one who 
has a right to advise you, by his avowed love for your 
grandmother, and recent close connection with yourself, 
let me tell you what I think of those principles that you 
avow, and also of the state of things that is so fast growing- 
up in this country. In the first place, he is no true friend 
of your sex who teaches it this doctrine of independence. 
I should think — it is true, I am only a bachelor, and have 
no experience to back me — but, I should think that a 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 381 

woman who truly loves her husband, would find a delight 
in her dependence ” 

“Oh! certainly!” exclaimed Anna — biting her tongue 
at the next instant, and blushing scarlet at her own temer- 
ity. 

“ I understand you, child, and approve again — but there 
comes Jack, and I shall have to turn you over to him, that 
you may receive a good scolding from headquarters, for 
this abject servitude feeling that you have betrayed. Go 
~r— go — his arm is held out already — and harkee, young 
folk, remember that a new maxim in morals has come in 
with the Code — ‘ Principles depend on Circumstances.’ 
That is the rule of conduct nowadays— that, and anti-rent- 
ism, and ‘ republican simplicity,’ and the ‘ cup-and-saucer 
law,’ and — and — yes — and the ever-blessed Code ! ” 

Dunscomb was obliged to stop for breath, which gave 
the young couple an opportunity to walk away. As for 
Mildred, she stood collected, extremely ladylike in mien, 
but with a slight degree of hauteur expressed in her coun- 
tenance. 

“ And now, sir, that we are alone,” she said, “ permit me 
to inquire what my part of the lecture is to be. I trust 
you will remember, however, that, while I am Mildred 
Millington by birth, the law which you so much reverence 
and admire, makes me Madame de Larocheforte.” 

“You mean to say that I have the honor of conversing 
with a married woman ? ” 

“ Exactly so, Mr. Dunscomb.” 

“ I comprehend you, ma’am, and shall respect your po- 
sition. You are not about to become my niece, and I can 
claim no right to exceed the bounds of friendship ” 

“ Nay, my dear sir, I do not wish to say this. You have 
every right to advise. To me you have been a steady and 
well-judging friend, and this in the most trying circum- 
stances. I am ready to hear you, sir, in deference, if not 
in your beloved humility.” 

“ That which 1 have to say refers solely to your own hap- 
piness, Mildred. Your return to America has, I fear, been 
most inopportune. Among other innovations that are 
making on every side of us, even to the verge of dissolu- 
tion of civilized society, comes the liberty of women. 
Need I tell you what will be the next step in this down- 
ward career?” 

“ You needs must, Mr. Dunscomb — I do not compre- 
hend you. What will that step be ? ” 


382 


THE IVAYS OF 7' HE HOUR. 


“ Her licentiousness. No woman can throw off the most 
sacred of all her earthly duties, in this reckless manner, 
and hope to escape from the doom of her sex. After 
making a proper allowance for the increase of population, 
the increase in separated married people is getting to be 
out of all proportion. Scarce a. month passes that one 
does not hear of some wife who has left her husband, se- 
creted herself with a child, perhaps, as you did, in some 
farm house, passing by a different name, and struggling 
for her rights, as she imagines. Trust me, Mildred, all this 
is as much opposed to nature as it is to prescribed duties. 
That young woman spoke merely what an inward impulse, 
that is incorporated with her very being, prompted her fo 
utter. A most excellent mother — oh ! what a blessing is 
that to one of your sex — how necessary, how heavenly, 
how holy ! — an excellent mother has left her in ignorance 
of no one duty, and her character has been formed in what 
I.shall term harmony with her sex. I must be plain, Mil- 
dred — you have not enjoyed this advantage. Deprived of 
your parent young, known to be rich, and transplanted to 
another soil, your education has necessarily been intrusted 
to hirelings, flatterers, or persons indifferent to your real 
well-being ; those who have consulted most the reputation 
of their instruction, and have, paid the most attention to 
those arts which soonest strike the eye, and most readily at- 
tract admiration. In this their success has been complex.” 

“ While you think it has not been so much so, sir, in 
more material things ? ” said the lady, haughtily. 

“Let me be sincere. It is due to my relation to you- — 
to your grandmother — to the past— to the present time. "1 
know the blood that runs in your veins, Mildred. You are 
self-willed by descent, rich by inheritance, independently 
the folly of our legislators. Accident has brought you 
home, at the very moment when our ill-considered laws are 
unhinging society in many of its most sacred interests ; 
and, consulting only an innate propensity, you have vent- 
ured to separate from your husband, to conceal yourself 
in a cottage, a measure, I dare say, that comported well 
with your love of the romantic — ■ — ” 

“Not so — I was oppressed, annoyed, unhappy at home, 
and sought refuge in that cottage. Monsieur de Laroche- 
forte has such a passion for snuff ! He uses it night and 
day.” 

“ Then followed the serious consequences which involved 
you in so many fearful dangers ” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


383 


“True,” interrupted the lady, laying her small, gloved 
hand hastily on his arm — “ very true, dear Mr. Dunscomb ; 
but how cleverly I contrived to escape them all! — how 
well I managed your Mr. Timms, good Mrs. Gott, the 
puffy, pompous sheriff, that wily Williams too, whose palm 
felt the influence of my gold — oh ! the excitement of the 
last two months has been a gift of paradise to me, and, for 
the first time since my marriage, have I known what true 
happiness was ! ” 

Dunscomb turned, astonished, to his* companion, and 
stared her in the face. Never was the countenance more 
lovely to the cursory glance, the eye brighter, the cheek 
with a richer glow on it, or the whole air, mien and atti- 
tude more replete with womanly loveliness, and womanly 
graces ; but the observant eye of the lawyer penetrated 
beyond all these, and detected the unhappy spirit which 
had gained possession of a tenement so lovely. The ex- 
pression of the countenance denoted the very triumph of 
cunning. We pretend not to a knowledge of the arcana of 
nature, to be able to detect the manner in which the mov- 
ing principles prompt to good or evil, but we must reject 
all sacred history, and no small portion of profane, not to 
believe that agencies exist that are not visible to our ordi- 
nary senses ; and that our boasted reason, when abandoned 
to its own support, becomes the victim of those, that are 
malign. We care not by what names these agents are 
called, imps, demons, evil spirits, or evil passions ; but this 
we do know, let him beware who submits to their control. 
Better, far better, were it that such an one had never been 
born! 

Three days later Mildred Millington was in a state that 
left no doubt of her infirmity. The lucid intervals were 
long, however, and at such times her mind seemed clear 
enough on all subjects but one. Divorce was her “ ruling 
passion,” and, in order to effect her purpose, all the ex- 
traordinary ingenuity of a most fertile mind was put in 
requisition. Although means were promptly, but cau- 
tiously, taken to see that she did not squander her large 
pecuniary resources, Dunscomb early saw that they were 
uncalled for. Few persons were better qualified to look 
after their money than was this unfortunate lady, in the 
midst of the dire visitation that intellectually reduced her 
below the level of most around her. On this head her 
sagacity was of proof ; though herhand was not closed with 
the gripe of a miser.’ Accustomed, from childhood, to a 


3*4 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


liberal expenditure, she was willing still to use the means 
that an inscrutable Providence had so liberally placed in 
her way, her largesses and her charities continuing the 
same as ever. Down to the present moment the fund- 
holder, the owner of town property, the mortgagee, and 
the trader is allowed to enjoy his own, without any direct 
interference of the demagogue with his rights ; but how 
much longer this exception is to last is known only to the 
Being who directs the destinies of nations ; or, at least, 
not to any who are now on earth, surrounded equally by 
the infirmities and ignorance of the present state. 

But Mildred was, and is yet, permitted to exercise her 
rights over her own property, though care is had to see 
that no undue advantage is taken of her sex, years, and 
ignorance. Beyond this her control was not disputed, and 
she was suffered to manage her own affairs. She set 
about the matter of a divorce with the whole energy of 
her nature, and the cunning of her malady. Timms was 
again summoned to her service, unknown to Dunscomb, 
who would never have winked at the measures that were 
taken, though so much in accordance with “the ways of 
the hour.” 

Provided with proper credentials,, this managing agent 
sought an interview with M. de Larocheforte, a worn-out 
debauchee of some rank, who, sooth to say, had faults even 
graver than that of taking snuff. Notwithstanding the 
great personal attractions of Mildred, the motive for marry- 
ing her had been money, as is usually the case in a very 
great proportion of the connections of the old world, 
among persons of condition. Love is to succeed, and not 
to precede, matrimony. Mildred had been taught that 
lesson, and grievously had she been disappointed. The 
snuff got into her eyes. M. de Larocheforte— M. le 
Vicomte as he had been, and was still determined to be, 
and in all probability will be, in spite of all the French 
“republican simplicity” that was ever summoned to a 
nation’s rescue — M. le Vicomte was directly approached 
by Timms, and a proposal made that he should put him- 
self in a condition to be divorced, fora stipulated price. 
Notwithstanding the opinion of the learned attorney- 
general of this great State, of the European aristocracy, 
and who is so every way qualified to give such an opinion, 
ex-officio as it might be, M. de Larocheforte declined lend- 
ing himself to so vile a proposition, Frenchman and noble 
as he was. Nor did the husband believe that the discredit- 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


385 


able proposal came from his wife. He compelled Timms 
to admit as much, under a menace of losing his case. That 
worthy was puzzled at this result, for he had made the 
proposal on his “own hook,” as he afterward explained 
the matter to Williams, in the fullest confidence of “ re- 
publican simplicity,” and was astonished at meeting with 
the self-respect of a gentleman, if with no very elevated 
principles in a nobleman ! It was accordingly necessary 
to have recourse to some other mode of proceeding. 

Luckily for the views of Timms and his fair client, one 
can scarcely go amiss in this country, when a divorce is 
desired. Although a few of the older States remain rea- 
sonably inflexible on this subject, in some respects unrea- 
sonably so, indeed, they are generally surrounded by com- 
munities that are more indulgent. By means of some 
hocus pocus of the law, that we pretend not to explain, the 
names of Gabriel Jules Vincent Jean Baptiste de Laroche- 
forte ads. Mildred de Larocheforte were just beginning to 
steal on the dawn of the newspapers, in a case that, ere 
long, might blaze in the meridian of gossip. 

Dunscomb frowned, and reproached, but it was too late 
to recede. He has told Mildred, and he has told Timms, 
that nuptial knots tied in one community, cannot be so 
readily unloosed in another, as many imagine ; and that 
there must, at least, be good faith — the animus revertendi — 
in the change of residence that usually precedes the appli- 
cation. But money is very powerful, and smooths a thou- 
sand difficulties. No one could predict the termination ; 
and, as the vicomte, though only to be approached in a 
more delicate way than that adopted by Timms, was as 
tired of the connection as his wife, and was very anxious 
to obtain a larger share of the fortune than the “cup and 
saucer” law will give him, it wasby no means improbable 
that the end of the affair would be a quasi-divorce, that 
would at least enable each party to take his or her own 
course, without fear of molestation from the other. 

In the meantime, Millington was married very shortly 
after the trial. The engagement had not been long, but 
the parties had known each other intimately for years. 
The bridegroom, in one sense, was the head of his family, 
though by no means possessed of its largest fortune. In 
this character, it devolved on him to care for the interests 
of his fair relative. Although as much opposed as Duns- 
comb to the course she was taking, he did not shrink from 
his duties as a relative ; and it is understood that his house 

25 


3 86 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


is Mildred’s home when in town. Rattletrap opened its 
hospitable doors to tbe unfortunate woman, whenever she 
chose to visit the place ; and Timbully has also claims on 
her time and presence. 

Dunscomb announced his intention to retire from prac- 
tice at the end of a twelvemonth, the morning that Michael 
and Sarah were married. In the intervening time, John 
Wilmeter and his new nephew were received as partners, 
and the worthy bachelor is now sedulously but silently 
transferring as respectable and profitable a list of clients as 
any man in the courts can claim. His own advice is prom- 
ised, at all times, to his old friends ; and, as not a soul has 
objected, and the young men bid fair, there is every reason 
to hope that useful and profitable labor will keep both out 
of mischief. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Some curate has perm’d this invective, 

And you have studied it. — Massinger. 

The day set apart for the nuptials of John Wilmeter and 
Anna Updyke finally arrived. The deremony was to take 
place in a little church that had stood, time out of mind, 
in the immediate neighborhood of Timbully. This church 
was colonial in its origin, and, while so much around it 
had undergone vital changes, there stands that little temple, 
reared in honor of God, in its simplicity, unpretending 
yet solid and durable architecture, resembling, in all these 
particulars, the faith it was erected to sustain. Among the 
other ways of the hour that are worthy of our notice, the 
Church itself has sustained many rude shocks of late — 
shocks from within as well as from without. The Father 
of Lies has been roving through its flocks with renewed 
malice, damaging the shepherds, perhaps, quite as much 
as the sheep, and doing things hitherto unheard of in the 
brief annals of American Ecclesiastical History. Although 
we deeply regret this state of things, we feel no alarm. 
The hand which first reared this moral fabric will be cer- 
tain to protect it as far as that protection shall be for its 
good. It has already effected a great reform. The trum- 
pet is no longer blown in Zion in our own honor ; to boast 
of the effects of a particular discipline ; to announce the 
consequences of order, and of the orders ; or, in short, to 
proclaim a superiority that belongs only to the Head of 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 


387 


all the Churches, let them be further from, or nearerto, what 
are considered distinctive principles. What the Church is 
now enduring the country itself most sadly wants — a lesson 
in humility ; a distrust of self, a greater dependence on 
that wisdom which comes, not from the voices of the 
people, not from the ballot-boxes, not from the halls of 
senates, from heroes, god-likes, or stereotyped opinions, 
but from above, the throne of the Most High. 

In one of those little temples reared by our fathers in 
the days of the monarchy, when, in truth, greater repub- 
lican simplicity really reigned among us, in a thousand 
things, than reigns to-day, the bridal party from Timbully 
was assembled at an early hour of the morning. The com- 
pany was not large, though it necessarily included most of 
the nearest relatives of the bride and groom. Dunscomb 
was there, as were Millington and his wife' ; Dr. and Mrs. 
McBrain, of course, and two or three other relations on the 
side of the bride’s father, besides Mildred. It was to be a 
private wedding, a thing that is fast getting to be for- 
gotten. Extravagance and parade have taken such deep 
root among us that young people scarce consider them- 
selves legally united unless there are six bridesmaids, one, 
in particular, to “pull off the gldve as many attendants 
of the other sex, and some three or four hundred friends 
in the evening, to bow and courtesy before the young 
couple, utter a few words of nonsense, and go their way to 
bow and courtesy somewhere else. 

» There was nothing of this at Timbully, on that wedding 
day. Dunscomb and his nephew drove over from Rattle- 
trap, early in the morning, even while the dew was glitter- 
ing on the meadows, and Millington and his wife met them 
at a cross-road; less than a mile from McBrain’s country- 
house. The place of rendezvous was at the church itself, 
and thither the several vehicles directed their way. Duns- 
comb was just in time to hand Mildred from her very com- 
plete travelling-carriage, of which the horses were in a 
foam, having been driven hard all the way from town. 
Last of all, appeared Stephen Hoof, driving the very re- 
spectable-looking rockaway of Mrs. McBrain — we were on 
the point of writing “ his master,” but there are no longer 
any “masters” in New York. Stephen, himself, who had 
not a spark of pride, except in his horses, and who was 
really much attached to the person he served, always spoke 
of the doctor as his “boss.” Jack Wilmeter, somewhat of 
a wag, had perplexed the honest coachman, on a certain 


3 SS 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


occasion, by telling him that “boss” was the Latin for 
“ox,” and that it was beneath his dignity to be using Pill 
and Pole-us (Bolus) to drag about “oxen.” But Stephen 
recovered from this shock in due time, and has gone on 
ever since calling his master “boss.” We suppose this 
touch of “republican simplicity ” will maintain its ground 
along with the other sacred principles that certain persons 
hold on to so tightly that they suffer others, of real im- 
portance, to slip through their fingers. 

Stephen was proud of his office that day. He liked his 
new mistress — there are no bossesses — and he particularly 
liked Miss Anna. His horses were used a good deal more 
than formerly, it is true ; but this he rather liked too, hav- 
ing lived under the regimes of the two first Mrs. McBrain. 
He was doubly satisfied because his team came in fresh, 
without having a hair turned, while that of Madame , as all 
the domestics now called Mildred, were white with foam. 
Stephen took no account . of the difference in the distance, 
as he conceived that a careful coachman would have had 
his “boss ” up early enough to get over the ground in due 
season, without all this haste. Little did he understand 
the bossess that his brother-whip had to humor. She paid 
high, and had things her own way. ' 

Anna thought Stephen had never driven so fast as he 
did that morning. The doctor handed her from the car- 
riage, leading her and his wife directly up to the altar. 
Here the party was met by John and his uncle, the latter 
of whom facetiously styled himself the “groomsman.” It. 
is a ceremony much more easily done than undone — great 
as the facilities for the last are getting to be. In about 
five minutes, John Wilmeter and Anna Updyke were pro- 
nounced to be “ one flesh.” In five minutes more, Jack 
had his sweet, smiling, happy, tearful bride, in his own 
light vehicle, and was trotting away toward a pretty little 
place in Westchester, that he owns, and which was all 
ready to receive the young couple. The ponies seemed to 
understand their duty, and soon carried the bride and 
bridegroom out of sight. 

“Them’s awful trotters, them nags of Mr. Jack Wilming- 
ton’s,” said Stephen, as the double phaeton whirled away 
from the church door, “and if Miss Anny doesn’t disap- 
prove on ’em, afore long, I’m no judge of a team. I’m 
glad, however, the young gentleman has married into our 
family, for he does like a hoss, and the gentleman that 
likes a hoss commonly likes his vife.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


389 


His remark was overheard by Dunscomb, though intend- 
ed only for the ears of the counsellor’s coachman. It 
drew an answer, as might have been foreseen. 

“I am glad you approve of the connection, Stephen,” 
said the counsellor in his good-natured way. “ It is a great 
satisfaction to know that my nephew goes among friends.” 

“Fri’nds, sir ! Admirers is a better tarm. I’m a down- 
right admirer of Mr. Jack, he’s sich tastes ; always with 
his dog, or his gun, or his hoss, in the country ; and I 
dares to say, with his books in town.” 

“Not just all that, Stephen; I wish it were so; but 
truth compels me to own that the young rogue thinks 
quite as much of balls, and suppers, and tailors, and the 
opera, as he does of Coke upon Lyttleton, or Blackstone 
and Kent.” 

“Veil, that’s wrong,” answered Stephen, “anti I’ll up- 
hold no man in vot’s wrong, so long as I can do better. I 
know’d both them racers, having heard tell on ’em at the 
time they vos run, and I’ve heard good judges say, that 
timed the hosses, that Kent come in neck and neck, if jus- 
tice had been done. Mr. Jack will rectify, and come to 
see the truth afore long — mattermony will do that much 
for him. It’s a great help to the seekers arter truth, is 
mattermony, sir ! ” 

“That is the reason you have so much of it at Timbully, 
I suppose,” returned Dunscomb, nodding familiarly toward 
his friend the doctor, who had heard all that was said. 
“ If matrimony rectifies in this way you must be three 
times right at home, Stephen.” 

“Yes, sir,” answered the coachman, nodding his head in 
reply ; “ and when a body does better and better, as often 
as he tries, there’s no great harm in trying. Mr. Jack vill 
come round, in time.” 

“ I dare say he will, Stephen, when he has sown all his 
wild oats ; though the dog pretends to like the Code, and 
what is more, has the- - impudence to say he understands it.” 

“ Yes, sir, all wrong, I dares to say. But Miss Anna 
will set him right, as a righter young lady never sat on the 
back seat of a coach. I vish, now ve’re on the subject, 
Squire Dunscomb, to hear your ra’al opinion about them 
vild oats ; vether they be a true thing, or merely a fancy 
consarning some vegetable that looks like the true feed. 
I’ve often heard of sich things, but never seed any.” 

“Nor will you, Stephen, until the doctor turns short 
round, and renews his youth. Then, indeed, you may see 


390 


THE WA YS OF THE HO UR. 

some of the grain growing beneath your feet. It is doc- 
tor’s food.” 

“ Meshy, and good for the grinders of old hosses, I dares 
to say.” 

“Something of the sort. It’s the harvest that age reaps 
from the broadcast of youth. But we arc keeping Mrs. 
McBrain waiting. Stephen will take one less back with 
him than he brought, my dear lady.” 

“ I trust not. Mr. McBrain has given me reason to hope 
for the pleasure of your company. Your nephew has, car- 
ried off my daughter ; the least you can do is to come and 
console me.” 

“ What is then to become of that dear, but unfortunate 
young lady ?” glancing toward Mildred. 

“ She goes with her relatives, the Millingtons. Next 
week we are all to meet at Rattletrap, you know.” 

The next week the meeting took place, as appointed. 

“Here I am,” cried Dunscomb, “truly and finally a 
bachelor, again. Now for the reign of misrule, negligence, 
and bad housekeeping. Sarah has left me ; and John has 
left me ; and Rattletrap will soon become the chosen seat 
of discomfort and cynicism.” 

“ Never the last, I should think,” answered Mme. de 
Larocheforte, gayly, “ as long as you are its master. But 
why should you dwell alone here, in your declining years 
— why may I not come and be your housekeeper ? ” 

“ The offer is tempting, coming, as it does, from one 
who cannot keep house for herself. But you think of re- 
turning to Europe, I believe ? ” 

“ Never — or not so long as my own country is so indul- 
gent to us women ! ” 

“Why, y$s — you are right enough in that, Mildred. 
This is woman’s paradise, in a certain sense, truly ; though 
much less attention is paid to their weaknesses and wants, 
by the affluent, than in other lands. In every Christian 
country but this, I believe, a wife may be compelled to do 
her duty. Here she is fre6 as the air she breathes, so long 
as she has a care not to offend in one essential. No, you 
are right to remain at home, in your circumstances ; that 
is to say, if you still insist on your mistaken independence ; 
a condition in which nature never intended your sex to 
exist.” 

“ And yourself, sir ! Did not nature as much intend 
that you should marry as another ? ” 

“ It did,” answered Dunscomb, solemnly ; “and I would 


39i 


THE WA YS OF THE HOUR. 

have discharged the obligation, had it been in my power. 
You well know why I have never been a husband— the 
happy parent of a happy family.” 

Mildred’s eyes swam with tears. She had heard the his- 
tory of her grandmother’s caprice, and had justly appre- 
ciated- the wrongs of. Dunscomb. This it was not difficult 
for her to do, in the case of third parties, even while so 
obtuse on the subject of her own duties. She took the 
hand of her companion, by a stealthy and unexpected 
movement, and raised it still more unexpectedly to her 
lips. Dunscomb started ; turned his quick glance on her 
face, where he read all her contrition and regrets. It was 
by these sudden exhibitions of right feeling and correct 
judgment, that Mme. de Larocheforte was' able to main- 
tain her position. The proofs of insanity were so limited 
in the range of its influence, occurred so rarely, now she 
was surrounded by those who really took an interest in 
her, and this not for the sake of her money, but for her own 
sake, that her feelings had become softened, and she no 
longer regarded men and women as being placed near her 
to prey on her means, and to persecute her. By thus giv- 
ing her affections scope her mind was gradually getting to 
be easier, and her physical existence improved. McBrain 
was of opinion that, with care, and with due attention to 
avoid excitement and distasteful subjects, her reason might 
again be seated on its throne, and bring all the faculties of 
her mind in subjection to it. 

At length the time for the visit of the young people 
arrived. Anxious to see happy faces assembled around 
him, Dunscomb had got Mildred, the McBrains, and the 
Millingtons, at Rattletrap, to do honor to the bride and 
groom. Good Mrs. Gott had not been overlooked, and by 
an accident Timms drove in at the gate just as the whole 
party, including Jack and his blooming wife, were sitting 
down to a late breakfast. The counsellor welcomed his 
rnan-of-all-work, for habit renders us less fastidious in our 
associations than most of us imagine. 

Timms was very complimentary to both of the young 
couples, and in a slight degree witty, agreeably to his own 
mode of regarding the offspring of that effort of the imag- 
ination. 

“ What do you think of Williams’s getting married, 
Squire Dunscomb ? ” the attorney asked. “ There’s a man 
for matrimony ! He regards women and niggers as inferior 
beings.” 


392 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


“ Pray, how do you regard them, Timms ? The women 
only, I suppose ? ” 

“ Oh ! dear, no, squire ; as far as possible from that ! I 
reverence the ladies, without whom our state in this life 
would be 

“ Single — I suppose you wish to say. Yes, that is a very 
sensible remark of yours — without women we should cer- 
tainly all get to be old bachelors in time. But, Timms, it 
is proper that I should be frank with you. Mildred de 
Larocheforte may manage to get a divorce, by means of 
some of the quirks of the law ; but were she to be proclaimed 
single, by sound of trumpet, she would never marry you.” 

“ You are sharp on me this morning, sir ; no one but the 
lady herself can say that ” 

“ There you are mistaken. I know it, and am ready to 
give my reasons for what I say.” 

“ I should be pleased to hear them, sir — always respect 
your reasoning powers, though I think no man can say 
who a lady will or will not marry.” 

“In the first place, she does not like you. That is one 
sufficient reason, Timms ” 

“ Her dislike may be overcome, sir.” 

“ Her tastes are very refined. She dislikes her present 
husband principally because he takes snuff.” 

“ I should have thought she might have discovered her 
feelings on that subject before she went so far.” 

“Not as they manage matters in Europe. There, the 
suitor is not permitted to kiss his intended, as so often 
happens among ourselves, I fancy ; and she had no oppor- 
tunity of ascertaining how unpleasant snuff is. You chew 
and smoke, and she will endure neither.” 

“ I’ll forswear both, rather than not be agreeable to dear 
Mary Monson.” 

“ Ah, my poor Timms, I see you are deeper in this affair 
than I had supposed. But I shall turn you over to Mrs. 
Gott, who has promised to have an explanation with you, 
and who, I believe, will speak by authority.” 

Timms was not a little surprised to see his old master 
very unceremoniously leave him, and the sheriff’s wife 
occupy his place. 

“ Squire Timms,” the latter commenced, without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation, “ we live in a very strange world, it 
must be admitted. Gott says as much as this, and Gott is 
commonly right. He always maintained he never should 
be called on to hang Mary Monson.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


393 


“ Mr. Gott is a very prudent man, but he would do well 
to take more care of his keys.” 

“I have not been able to find out how that was done ! 
Mary laughs when I ask her, and says it was witchcraft ; 
I sometimes think it must have been something of the 
sort.” 

“It was money, Mrs. Gott, which kept Goodwin con- 
cealed to the last moment, and brought about half of all 
that happened.” 

“ You knew that Peter Goodwin was alive, and hid up 
at Mrs. Horton’s?” 

“I was as much surprised, when he entered the court, 
as any one there. My client managed it all for herself. 
She, and her gold.” 

“ Well, you have the credit of it, Timms, let me tell you, 
and many in the county think it was very well done. I 
am your friend, and ever have been. You stood by Gott 
like a man, at his election, and I honor you for it. So I 
am about to give you a great proof of my friendship. 
Give up all thoughts of Mary Monson ; she’ll never have 
you.” 

“ What reasons have you for saying this ? ” 

“ In the first place she is married already.” 

“ She may get a divorce. Besides, her present husband 
is not a citizen. If I go to the senate, I intend to intro- 
duce a bill to prevent any but citizens getting married. 
If foreigners want wives, let them be naturalized ! ” 

“You talk like a simpleton! Another reason why you 
should not think of Mary Monson is that you are unsuited 
to be her husband ? ” 

“ In what particular, I beg leave to ask ?” 

“ Oh ! in several. You are both too sharp, and would 
quarrel about your wit, in the very first month,” returned 
Mrs. Gott, laughing. “ Take my advice, Timms, and cast 
your eyes on some Dukes County young woman, who has 
a natur’ more like your own.” 

Timms growled out a dissent to this very rational prop- 
osition, but the discussion was carried on for some time 
longer. The woman made an impression at last, and when 
the attorney left the house it was with greatly lessened 
hopes for the future, and with greatly lessened zeal on the 
subject of the divorce. 

It was singular, perhaps, that Mrs. Gott had not detected 
the great secret of Mary Monson’s insanity. So many per- 
sons are going up and down the country, who are mad on 


394 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 

particular subjects, and sane on most others, that it is not 
surprising the intelligence and blandishments of a woman 
like Mildred should throw dust into the eyes of one as 
simple-minded as Mrs. Gott. With the world at large, in- 
deed, the equivoque was kept up, and while many thought 
the lady very queer, only a few suspected the truth. It 
may be fortunate for most of us that writs of lunacy are 
not taken out against us.; few men or women, being under 
the control of a good, healthful reason at all times, and 
on all subjects. 

In one particular, Mme. de Larocheforte was singularly 
situated. She was surrounded, in her ordinary associa- 
tions, with newly married persons, w T ho were each and a,ll 
strenuously resolved to regard the relation in the most 
favorable point of view. Perhaps there is nothing on earth 
that so nearly resembles the pure happiness of the blessed, 
as the felicity that succeeds the entire union of two hearts 
that are wrapped up in each other. Such persons live 
principally for themselves, regarding the world at large 
as little more than their abiding-place. The affinity of 
feelings, the community of thought, the steadily increas- 
ing confidence which, in the end, almost incorporates the 
moral existence of two into one, are so many new and 
precious ties, that it is not w'onderful the novices believe 
they are transplanted to a new and ethereal state of being. 
Such was, in a measure, the condition of those with whom 
Mildred was now called on to associate most intimately. 
It is true, that the state of the doctor and his wife might 
be characterized as only happy, while those of the young 
people amounted to absolute felicity. Mildred had ex- 
perienced none of the last, and very little of the first, on 
the occasion of her own marriage, which had been entered 
into more as a contract of reason than a union of love. 
She saw how much she had missed, and profound was the 
grief it occasioned her. 

“ You seem very happy,” she remarked one day to Anna, 
as they were again treading the pretty little wood at Rat- 
tletrap — “ more than that— delighted would be a better 
word.” 

Jack is very kind to me, and the only complaint I have 
to make of him is, that he is more fond of me than I de- 
serve. I tell him I tremble lest our happiness may not 
last !” 

“ Enjoy it while you may. It is so rare to find married 
persons who are so completely devoted to each other, that 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


395 


it is a pleasant sight to took upon. I never knew any of 
this, Anna.” 

“ I regret to hear it, dear mamma — it must be that you 
began wrong. There should be a strong attachment be- 
fore the nuptial benediction is pronounced ; then, with 
good hearts, and good principles, I should think almost 
any woman might be content with her fate.” 

“It may be so,” returned Mildred, with a profound sigh ; 
“ I suppose it must be so. We are created by God, to ful- 
fil these kind offices to each other, and to love our hus- 
bands ; and there must be something very wrong when 
different results follow. For myself, I ought never to 
have married at all. My spirit is. too independent for 
matrimony.” 

Anna was silent ; for, possibly, she might have read 
“ headstrong ” for “independent.” The most truly inde- 
pendent thinkers are those who are willing to regard all 
sides of a subject, and are not particularly wedded to one. 
Mildred was acute enough to see that the beautiful young 
bride did not exactly like the allusion she had made to 
her new character. 

“You do not agree with me?” she demanded quickly, 
bending forward to look into her companion’s eyes. 

“ How can I, mamma Mildred ! As I think no one, 
man or woman, should have a spirit that disqualifies her 
for the duties imposed by nature, which is merely the 
law of our great Creator, how can I agree to your notion 
of so much independence. We are not intended for all 
this independence, but have been placed here to do 
honor to God, and to try to render each other happy. I 
wish — but I am too bold, for one so young and inexperi- 
enced.” 

“ Speak freely, dear. I listen with pleasure — not to say 
with curiosity.” 

“ I am afraid, dear mamma, that the great guide of human 
conduct is not as much studied in France, as it should be. 
That teaches us the great lesson of humility. Without hu- 
mility we are nothing — cannot be Christians — cannot love 
our neighbors as ourselves — cannot even love God, as it is 
our duty, as we ought to do.” 

“ This is very strange, Anna, coming from one of your 
age ! Is it common for American girls to reason and feel in 
this way ? ” 

“ Perhaps not, though I hope more so than is commonly 
supposed. You will remember what a mother it is my 


39 6 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


good fortune to possess. But, since you really wish me to 
be frank with you, let me finish what I have to say. I sup- 
pose you know, Mildred, how much more you have to con- 
tend with than most of your sex ? ” 

“ Monsieur de Larocheforte, you mean ? ” 

“Not at all,” returned Mrs. John Wilmeter, slightly 
smiling. “ I put all thought of contention with a hus- 
band out of the question. You know I have not been 
married long enough for that, and I could almost hope 
that the first day of such a scene might be the last of 
my life ! John would cease to love me, if I quarrelled 
with him.” 

“ You will be an extraordinary pair, my dear, 'if 
scenes, as you call them, do not occasionally occur be- 
tween you.” 

“ I do not expect faultlessness in Jack ; and, as for my- 
self, I know that I have very many motes to get rid of, and 
which I trust may, in a measure, be done. But let us re- 
turn to the case of a woman, young, well-educated, hand- 
some, rich to superfluity, and intellectual.” 

“ All of which are very good things, my child,” ob- 
served Mme. de Larocheforte, with a smile so covert as to 
be scarcely seen, though it betrayed ,to her companion the 
consciousness of her making the application intended — 
“ what next ? ” 

“Wilful, a lover of power, and what she called inde- 
pendent.” 

“ Good and bad together. The two first, very bad, I ac- 
knowledge ; the last, very good.” 

“What do you understand by independence ? If it mean 
a certain disposition to examine and decide for ourselves, 
under all the obligations of duty, then it is a good thing, a 
very good thing, as you say ; but if it merely mean a dis- 
position to do as one pleases, to say what one likes, and to 
behave as one may at the moment fancy, then it strikes me 
as a very bad thing. This independence, half the time, is 
only pride and obstinacy, dear mamma!” 

“Well, what if it is? Men are proud and obstinate, too ; 
and they must be fought with their own weapons.” 

“It is easy to make smart speeches, but, by the difficul- 
ties I meet with in endeavoring to conquer my own heart, 
I know it is very hard to do right. I know I am a very 
young monitress ” 

“ Never mind that. Your youth gives piquancy to your 
instructions. I like to hear you.” 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


397 


“Well, I will finish what I had to say. I have ever found 
that the best assistant, or it might be more reverent to say, 
the best mode of subduing error, was to comport ourselves 
with humility. Ah ! my dear mamma, if you could under- 
stand how very strong the humble get to be in time, you 
would throw aside your cherished independence, and rely 
on other means to secure your happiness ! ” 

Perhaps Mildred was as much struck with the cir- 
cumstances under which this rebuke or admonition was 
given as with the advice itself. It had an effect, however, 
and Dunscomb coming in aid of his niece, this singular 
woman was gradually drawn from the exaggerated no- 
tions she had ever entertained of herself and her rights to 
the contemplation of her duties, as they are exercised in 
humility. 

If there were no other evidence of the divine origin 
of the rules of conduct taught by the Redeemer than 
the profound knowledge of the human heart, that is so 
closely connected with the great lessons in humility every- 
where given in his teachings, we conceive it would be suf- 
ficient in itself to establish their claim to our reverence. 
If men could be made to feel how strong they become in 
admitting their weaknesses ; how clearly they perceive 
truth, when conscious of gazing at its form amid the fogs 
of error ; and how wise we may become by the conscious- 
ness of ignorance, more than half of the great battle in 
morals would be gained. 

Humility was, indeed, a hard lesson for Mildred Milling- 
ton to study. Her whole life had been in direct opposi- 
tion to its precepts, and the great failing of her mind had 
a strong leaning to a love of power. Nevertheless, there 
is a still, searching process of correcting, so interwoven 
with the law of the New Testament, as to be irresistible 
when brought to aid us, in the manner prescribed by its 
own theory. No one knew this better than Dunscomb ; 
and he so directed the reading, thoughts, and feelings of 
his interesting charge, as to produce an early and a very 
sensible change on her character. The tendency to in- 
sanity is still there, and probably will ever remain ; for it is 
not so much the consequence of any physical derange- 
ment as of organization ; but it already promises to be so 
far controlled, as tp. leave its unhappy subject generally 
rational, and, for most of her time, reasonably satisfied. 

Dunscomb had several interviews with the vicomte — no- 
vicomte — whom he found a much more agreeable person 


39S 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR . 


than he had been prepared to meet, though certainly ad- 
dicted to snuff. He was made acquainted with the mental 
hallucinations of his wife as well as with the fact of their 
being hereditary, when a great change came over the 
spirit of his dream ! He had married to perpetuate the 
family De Larocheforte, but he had no fancy for a race of 
madmen. Dunscomb found him very reasonable, in con- 
sequence, and an arrangement was soon made, under the 
advice of this able counsellor, by means of which Mildred 
virtually became her own mistress. M. de Larocheforte 
accepted an ample provision from the estate, and willingly 
returned to Europe, a part of the world that is much 
more agreeable, usually, to men of his class than our 
own “ happy country.” His absence has proved a great 
assistance to those who have assumed the care of Mildred’s 
mental state. As all the schemes for a divorce have been 
discontinued — schemes that could have led to no strictly 
legal consequence — and her husband has left the country, 
the mind of Mildred has become calmer, and the means 
have been found to bring her almost completely within the 
control of her reason. 

We have very little to say of the other characters. Timms 
is still himself. He boasts of the fees he got in the great 
Mary Monson case. His prospects for the State Senate 
are far from bad, and should he succeed, we shall expect 
to see him whining about “republican simplicity,” abusing 
“ aristocracy,” which, in his secret heart, means a clean 
shirt, clean nails, anti-tobacco chewing and anti-blowing- 
the-nose-with-the-fingers, and aiding anti-rentism. He is 
scamp enough for anything. 

Williams is actually married, and, in reply to Timms’s 
accounts, of the fees, he intimates that Peter Goodwdn’s 
ghost would not have appeared, had he not “been choked 
off.” It ought to be strange that these two men like to 
boast of their rascality ; but it is in obedience to a law of 
our nature. Their tongues merely echo their thoughts. 

The McBrains seem very happy. If the wife be an “ old 
man’s darling,” it is not as a young woman. Dunscomb 
still calls her “widow,” on occasions, but nothing can in- 
terrupt the harmony of the friends.- It is founded on 
mutual esteem and respect. 

Michael and Sarah promise well. In that family, there 
is already a boy, to its great-uncle’s delight. The parents 
exult in this gift, and both are grateful. 

We care little for Jack Wilmeter, though a very good 


THE WAYS OF THE HOUR. 


399 


fellow, in the main. Anna loves him, however, and that 
gives him an interest in our eyes he might not otherwise 
enjoy. His charming wife is losing her surperfluous en- 
thusiasm in the realities of life, but she seems to gain in 
womanly tenderness and warmth of healthful feeling, pre- 
cisely in the degree in which she loses the useless tenant 
of her imagination. 


THE END. 



Latest Issues of Lovell’s Library, 


520 The Rose and the Ring. . 20 

321 Wolferts Roost 10 

322 Mark Sea worth 20 

123 Life of Paul Jones 20 

24 Round the World 20 

25 Elbow Room 20 

?6 The Wizard’s Son 25 

* . ».ry Lorrequer 20 

28 How it All Came Round. 20 

329 Dante Rosetti’s Poems... 20 

330 The Canon’s Ward 20 

331 Lucile, by O. Meredith. . 20 

332 Every Day Cook Book... 20 

333 Lays of Ancient Rome.. 20 

334 Life of Burns 20 

335 The Young Foresters 20 

336 John Bull and His Island 20 

337 Salt Water, by Kingston. 20 

333 The Midshipman 20 

339 Proctor's Po ms 20 

140 Clayton Rangers 20 

>41 Schiller’s Poems 20 

342 Goethe’s Faust 20 

343 Goethe’s Poems 20 

344 Life of Thackeray 10 

345 Dante’s Vision of Hell, 

Purgatory and Paradise 20 

346 An Interesting Case 20 

347 Life of Byron, Nichol.... 10 

348 Life of Bunyan 10 

349 Valerie’s Fate 10 

550 Grandfather Lickshinele 20 

551 Lays of the Scottish Ca- 

valiers 20 

352 Willis’ Poems 20 

353 Tales of the French Re- 

volution 15 

354 Loom and Luerger 20 

355 More Leaves from a Life 

in the Highlands 15 

356 Hygiene of the Brain. . . . 25 

357 Berkeley the Banker. .... 20 

358 Homes Abroad 15 

359 Scott’s Lady of the Lake, 20 

360 Modern Christianity a 

Civilized Heathenism. . 15 

361 Life of Shelley 10 

362 Goldsmith’s Plays ; and 

Poems 20 

363 For Each and for All. ... 15 

364 Life of Scott 10 

365 The Pathfinder 20 

366 The Sergeant's Legacy. . 20 

367 An Old Man’s Love 15 

>68 Old Lady Mary 10 

369 Life of Hume 10 

370 Twice-Told Tales 20 

>71 The Story of Chinese 

Gordon, A. E. Hake... 20 

372 Hill and Valley 15 

373 Essays, by Emerson 20 

’74 Essays, by George Eliot.. 20 

5 Science at Home 20 

1 ) Grandfather’s Chair 20 

* 7 Life of Defoe 10 

378 Homeward Bound 20 

379 The Charmed Sea 15 

HO Life of Locke 10 

381 A Fair Device 20 

382 Thaddens of Warsaw.... 20 

383 Life of Gibbon.. 1C 

384 Dorothy Forster 20 

»85 Swiss Family Robinson.. 20 

386 Childhood of the World. . 10 

387 Princess Napraxine 25 

38 Life in the wilds 15 

389 Paradise Lost 20 

390 The Land Question 10 

391 Homer’s Odyssey 20 

392 Life of Milton 10 

393 Social Problems 20 

394 The Giant’s Robe 20 

395 Sowers not Reapers 15 

96 Homer’s Iliad. 30 


397 Arabian Nights’ Enter- 

tainments 25 

398 Life of Pope 10 

399 John Holdsworth 20 

400 Glen of the Echoes 15 

401 Life of Johnson 10 

402 How he Reached the 

White House 25 

403 Poems, by E. A. Poe 20 

404 Life of Southey 10 

405 Life of J. G. Blaine 20 

406 Pole on Whist 15 

407 Life of Burke 10 

408 The Brier field Tragedy.. 20 

409 Adrift with a Vengeance 25 

410 Life of Wordsworth 10 

411 Children of the Abbey... 30 

412 Poems, by Swinburne.... 20 

413 Life of Chaucer 10 

414 Over the Summer Sea... 20 

415 A Perilous Secret 20 

416 Lalla Rookh, by Moore.. 20 

417 Don Quixote 30 

418 " I Say No,” by Collins. . 20 

419 Andersen’s Fairy Tales. . 20 

420 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

421 Aurora Leigh 20 

422 Cavendish Card Essays.. 15 

423 Repented at Leisure 20 

424 Life of Cowper, Smith... 10 

425 Self-Help, by Smiles 25 

426 Narrative of A. Gordon 

Pym 15 

427 Life of Grover Cleveland 20 

428 Robinson Crusoe 25 

429 Called Back, by Conway. 15 

430 Bums’ Poems 20 

431 Life of Spenser 10 

432 The Gold Bug, by Poe.. . 15 

433 Wrecks in the Sea of Life 20 

434 Typhaines Abbey 25 

435 Miss Tommy, by Mulock. 15 

436 The Light of Asia 20 

437 Tales of Two Idle Ap- 

prentices 15 

438 The Assignation 15 

439 Noctes Ambrosianae 30 

440 History of the Mormons. 15 

441 Home as Found 20 

442 Tame’s English Litera- 

ture 40 

443 Bryant’s Poems 20 

444 An Ishmaelite 20 

445 The Rival Doctors 20 

446 Tennyson’s Poems 40 

447 The Murder in the Rue 

Morgue and Other Tales 15 

448 Life of Fredrika Bremer. 20 

449 Quisisana 20 

450 Whittier’s Poems 20 

451 Doris, by The Duchess. . 20 

452 Mystic London 20 

453 Black Poodle 20 

454 The Golden Dog 40 

455 Pearls of the Faith 15 

456 Judith Shakespeare 20 

457 Pope’s Poems 30 

458 Sunshine and Roses 20 

459 John Bull and His Daugh- 

ters, by Max O Rell .... 20 

460 Galaski, by Bayne 20 

461 Socialism.... 10 

462 Dark Days 15 

463 Deerslayer, by Cooper... 30 

464 Two years before the 

Mast, by R. H. Dana, Jr 20 

465 Earl's Atonement 20 

466 Under the Will, by Hay 10 

467 Prairie, by Cooper 20 

468 The Count of Talavera. . 20 

469 Chase, by Lermina 20 

470 Vic, by A. Benrimo 15 

471 Pioneer, by Cooper 25 

472 Indian Song of bongs., ,, 10 


473 Christmas Stories 20 

474 A Woman’s Temptation. 20 

475 Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing. 20 

476 Love Works Wonders 20 

477 A Week in Killarney 10 

478 Tartarin of Tarascon.... 20 

479 Mrs. Browning’s Poems. 35 

480 Alice’s Adventures 20 

481 Through the Looking- 

Glass. by Lewis Carroll 20 

482 Longfellow’s Poems 20 

483 The Child Hunters 15 

484 The Two Admirals 20 

485 My Roses, by French ... 20 

486 History of the French 

Revolution. Vol. I.... 25 

486 History of the French 

Revolution. Vol. II... 25 

487 Moore’s Poems 40 

488 Water Witch 20 

489 Bride of Lammermoor.. . 20 

490 Black Dwarf 10 

491 Red Rover 20 

492 Castle Dangerous 15 

493 Legend of Montrose 15 

494 Past and Present 20 

495 Surgeon’s Daughter 10 

496 Woman’s Trials 20 

497 Sesame and Lilies 10 

498 Dryden’s Poems 30 

499 Heart of Mid-lothian 30 

500 Diamond Necklace 15 

501 The Pilot, by Cooper.... 20 

502 Waverley, by Scott 20 

503 Chartism, by Carlyle.... 20 

504 Fortunes of Nigel 20 

505 Crown of Wild Olives.... 10 

506 Wing* and Wing 20 

507 The Two Wives 15 

508 Sartor Itesartus 20 

509 Peveril of the Peak 30 

510 Ethics of the Dust 10 

511 Hood’s Poems 30 

512 Wyandotte, by Cooper. . . 20 

513 Men, Women, and Lovers 20 

514 Early Kings of Norway.. 20 

515 The Pirate, by Scott 30 

516 Queen of the Air 10 

517 Heidenmauer, by Cooper 20 

518 Married Life by Arthur. 20 

519 Headsman, by Cooper... 20 

520 Jean Paul Fred. Richter. 10 

521 Seven Lamps of Archi- 

tecture 20 

522 Carlyle’s Goethe, etc 10 

523 Coleridge’s Poems 30 

524 Bravo, by Cooper 20 

525 Life of Deyne 15 

526 Campbell’s Poems 20 

527 Lionel Lincoln 20 

528 Voltaire and Novelis 15 

529 Wept of Wish-ton- Wish. 20 

530 In Durance Vile 10 

531 Keats’s Poems 25f 

532 Afloat and Ashore 25 

533 Principles and Fallacies 

of Socialism 15 

534 Papa’s Own Girl 30 

535 Studies in Civil Service. . 15 

536 Scott’s Poems 40 

537 Lectures on Architecture 

and Painting, Ruskin.. 15 

538 The Ways of Providence, 

by Arthur 15 

539 Miles Wallingford, by J. 

F. Cooper 20 

540 Works or Virgil 25 

541 Heroes & Hero Worship, 

by Carlyle 20 

542 Stones of Venice, by Rus- 

kin, 3 vols., each 20 

543 The Monikins, by Cooper 20 

544 Redgauntlet, by Scott... 25 

545 Home Scenes, by Arthur 15 


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